when your face broke like crazy paving.
Zig-zag lines and angles fragmented the planes,
just missing your eyes and your nostrils
but cutting across your lips and severing both ears.
Then, as the glass shattered and fell,
jagged pieces crumbling slow to the ground,
your face was smooth again except for the scowl.
Your knuckles, though, still raised, were bloody.
Not a recent event, people, and not directly involving me. A poem from early 2009, just revised. Submitted to dVerse Open Link Night 6