Certain mornings she discovers
eyes that
walked past curious glances
in streets remembering names
as well as
her body remembers the trembles
that lure out night-walkers
wearing someone else’s rain coat
to hide a face full
of ‘someone else’s’ eyes
looking to read silence as assenting
to dissecting
lies
the crypt beneath the mirror
where she left her body behind
sometimes pausing to admire
small balloons from small palms
almost jealous of that tether
to the arms
that says joints
not doubles of
everything she hides from
beneath alphabetic psalms
venerating:
And I absolve you from
the glares of those end of night lights
blinding objects blinded to blind men’s eyes
And I haven’t even touched the screwtop and when I bleed blood my blood
bleeds