Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Mystery Eyes by John Grey

I want eyes
black and deep
as a well.
You wouldn't just look at me.
You'd drop a stone
down where I'm coming from
and listen, listen hard.
Maybe there'd be a distant splash,
maybe a thud,
maybe nothing
because there is no bottom.
I want the eyes
of the fort
that doesn't surrender,
the eyes of the clouds
that no blue sky can break.
Hieroglyphic eyes,
dead language eyes,
dead eyes even
if that's what it takes.
I don't want eyes
that open like your
funky fairy stories,
that you can read,
consume like candy floss.
At best, I'll be a blur
fogging up your need to focus.
At worst, once you know me,
what's to know.

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