Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		Poems by Rich Furman   Spot The spots on your face multiply in June.   It is the sun you say and melanin spreading from exposure.   The great lie of science counsels the sacred. Each one of the millions   earned by each loving act. Rescuing a dying homeless dog,   driving home the disabled man who pisses on the car seat,   soothing crying children, calming muse to grouchy poet.   Faces faces have eyes in Western Nebraska own shallow shunts   callous reminders of weakness bleed pilgrims     bleed peroxide,   wish for braces in industrial parks. Faces cascade    grey    mocking,   faces distract from rotting teeth, from time    from all time.   Next Poem
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