Where are the eyes? the eyes
of the dead, watching from
the darkness. A flame erupts,
ignites the iris, reflecting back.
Writer in San Francisco, CA
Where are the eyes? the eyes
of the dead, watching from
the darkness. A flame erupts,
ignites the iris, reflecting back.
I sink, and
welcome
the cold water,
rising up to my neck
and over.
Sun turnstiles
and I am revolving
around you. In orbit,
you do not glow, glitter,
or emanate a light source,
life source. You are a moon,
created out of cataclysm, but
reflecting light nonetheless
you are the center.
Minds twisted,
twirls, turnpikes,
a gyre gyrating under
pressure, a God’s fist
knuckles in the Earth.
Sun watching. The dreams of the world.
I am here and holding the sun together,
the edge of the night. The edge of the world.