My glasses fell, broke, went blind in one eye.
Not much that I lose (anymore) upsets me very much,
but the world has lost its bones and I feel like a stranger.
Faces become pillows, buildings blobs.
Only my heart retains its hard edge, and I bleed myself dizzy every night.
"Look," say the pillows, gathering around my wheelchair
Like dumb birds for bread. They think I'm blushing
when I'm dying and hang little samplers on the walls of my room.
"She's as rosy as a girl," they say, silly chatterboxes
Without faces, but with mouths as big as the white shadow that doctors know.