Blind Man Zoo

I press my hands between my knees, for fear my thoughts fly free; describing heartbeat’s rise and fall; paint my name upon the wall.
On knees I rest bisected chin, smile a smile, a cheapskate grin. My life could press between these pages – open, fold, cardboard stages.

I free my hands 'tween porcelain thighs; canvas stretched to expose details - a touch-up job on azure skies.
Ill adept and pistol-whipped, I rushed toward the prize, scratching itch and war-wound glitch, the walls imbed with nails.

I fly my hand across my face to break the tension surface, hoping yet to taste the wind, the flowers that unearth us.
I dip into the great divide between the day and the daylight; while up above the tree-line sky where needle threads the camel’s eye, wings the thought that no-one bought: I am cyclops sans an eye.

June 2010

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