possesses smooth clarity of vision.
He rolls his glass eye
to dispense balm for frail children who then recover.
Look into his glass eye.
You will see yourself split into fractals--
all the selves you are capable of being.
He greets each one
warmly, personally.
At night, he sets his eye on the nightstand
in a glass of solution.
It shimmers like a planet there, from which horoscopes might be drawn.
In the morning he replaces it and is filled with intelligent resolve.
If you meet the man with the glass eye,
do not ask what happened to his "real" eye.
It is in your head,
whispering sweetly.
_____
for Day 10 of my 39 poems in 39 days.
image: Tete d'homme barbu by Picasso.
This totally drew me in like a child with jaw agape, listening to a story more compelling because less like anything known. Your writing seems to be coalescing into such clarity , Shay--it casts a sharp shadow, like some clean rocky outcropping at noon in the badlands, rising up like a cipher all red and black and determined to leave a mystery both hidden and exposed...anyway, forgive the babble here. I just find it hard to find new ways to say how much I love what you do. I especially loved the first two sort of set-up stanzas, and then got whacked with the final pair. Whatever is whispering so sweetly(or satirically, or sinisterly) in your head, I hope it doesn't shut up any time soon.
ReplyDeleteI love that his "real" eye is in our heads whispering sweetly. Wow!
ReplyDeleteI have met a few of those fractal parts of myself in the last week.. and many more to come.
ReplyDeleteShay--These lines nagged at me. They seemed familiar. Not the words themselves, but the cadence.
ReplyDeleteI only had to think for a minute. Then it came to me. Dickinson's "Because I Could Not Stop for Death."
Is it just me, or is the rhythm similar?
It's fabulous, as usual.
This started out great but then just kept getting better.
ReplyDelete"At night, he sets his eye on the nightstand
in a glass of solution.
It shimmers like a planet there, from which horoscopes might be drawn.
In the morning he replaces it and is filled with intelligent resolve."
Phenomenal.
But then this:
"If you meet the man with the glass eye,
do not ask what happened to his "real" eye.
It is in your head,
whispering sweetly."
Pow. Home run.