THE WRINKLED FACE

Whose stylus scratches surface of the cherub's
Cheeks,
Leaves vapid valleys dark and deep, directionless
And doomed to disappear at dozens of dead
Ends?
What ill-bred instrument implants a labyrinthine
Leprosy, unlabeled lessons festering in the
Flesh?
When shall time's troubled trail bend sharply
East, to where beginnings beg for birth, where
Babies' smooth, unrippled jowls set pace,
And never more lie cratered crevices entrapped
In face?