True Story
by Adam | Thursday 4 February 2010
True Story
Darling, you cut the eyes from
the dead. You harvest them
and like an unnamed tribe of savages
you give them away:
a miser reaching enlightenment
some filigree fibers
laying reflective siege
upon the cornea of a black hole.
The bodies in their
plastic bags
-do not move-
until you arrive
and then they fall
over themselves
because you ask them
not nicely.
You arrive
a weekly periodical
that I buy
but don’t get
and therefore
cannot bear to
part with.
I arrive with your favorite flowers
irises I joke
though they are darker
(like seaport streets)
as I know you prefer.
Having seen your body
nude and shimmering
like a lake of understanding,
I bless it
pristine but illusory
clear colored and opaque
lending its bathers
the taste of salted coffee.
Having seen your body
my eyes are waiting
in the waiting room.