The New and Old You (Point of View)

She remains nameless and frozen. The fine features of her face, the depth of her eye sockets, the height of her forehead, her disappearing lips trace her likeness like a wanted sketch, someone like this, an outline of what we may be looking for, or need to find. Have you seen those police artists sketches that often resemble the Doe's? Hermaphroditic, androgynous, analogous but not amphibious, the shape of a polyglot. The lines are clearly marked, unlike those court reporters hasty chicken scratches, flippant and erratic spaces that bleed over lines attempting cartoonish movements in a blur of busy bureaucracy, a peak into the process not about the words. They hold no water dotted with the holes of the alibi, riddled between the plea if you could only see-the expression...
                                                               Here We see, told to look and the confident leading line, one you can follow and trust.       It is the line           requested when              hungry-
With clarity, simplicity, form that motivates the dot into a line, connecting past with the future.
You were Here!                                                                                                                                                                                                           Now-Look how far you've come!
Did you notice the lightness and inclusion of unshadowable detail. The afterthought, delicately doting on detail, adding a feather atop her head raising a hair of suspicion about her past and intentions now. A whimsical set of lofty strokes like musical notes, curled and poised in stale air in the not there of white. A tiny notation behind the tiny stroke that juts out but follows the flow, poised primly above the abbreviated arch of her button nose, stands a wisp of eyelash, stylishly profiled.
The neck of a lady lures lovers. With its silken simplicity it evokes other curves. The white remains stoic and fair among the occupation of black fur, wrapped and regal, coyly smelling the clouds.
Is she sad or being strangled by that choker?
Speechless and horrified, I spied the toothless hag whose eyes become her ears, her angular jaw devoured and transformed into a grotesque Jewess schnoz...I pause...
----Transfixing, blurring and re-adjusting my eyes with futile tries-----
to see only the Beauty and not the Beast, the pretty one to ogle, but the old lady boggles me with her hidden presence, they are both always there now in one. The future and the present connected by lines. As opposing as our black and white-words even act this way, misappropriated, misstated, re-propogated and positioned just so we know, our own indivisibility.
A drawing, art, is a polyglot. Art like music speaks. An image is placed in front of you, a view of your minds eye. It's meaning and subtle shapes, inclusions and omissions are your point of view...
Focusing on the eyelash they share, interminable, symbiotically, I continue to stare at this young and old pair, two in one, multi-face-ted, caricature pastiche of damsel and shrew that are both of you.

 “The line is a dot that went for a walk.”-Paul Klee