Sit with me now,
as if on a swing
of stretched hammock
and let me look at you
and slowly say:
Do you know
how dead
your eyes
appear?
Maybe
you do.
Maybe that’s why
you hid behind your glasses
when I saw you the other day…
I could smell your Fear.
Let’s go back.
Hey, Green Eyes:
I first saw Death
in that Martini pic.
I cried
when I
saw u;
for
I saw
what I’ve seen
in places un-
mentionable.
The next pic
(the family one)
was same, and worse: plus
Fire. I’d seen it before, when your eyes were a truer green.
I recognized it,
immediately,
and I shivered.
Listen:
just
because
I saw
Fire
doesn’t mean
I saw
Life.
are you trackin?
no need
call my
bluff on
what I
know or
point to
mirrors
for flight.
This ain’t no
mothafuckin
fairy tale.
Some truths
don’t need
an echo
to be true,
do they?
(Gravity, for example,
only gives one single fuck:
all will, and shall, go down)
Do u know,
do u have
ANY idea
how many
sets of eyes
among
The Dead
I’ve looked
straight into
since last
looking straight
into yours
ad quantum?
you
have
no
idea
of
where
you took
my soul
that day.
Or,
rather,
where
My soul
took me
for you
that day.
Or where on earth and above I’ve been after.
But,
maybe,
you do.
You have
NO IDEA,
thank God,
of where
in The Below
I’ve gone
for you
and why
I had to
do so, and
still, and
how it’s
nothing
like what
you think
and how
it came
to be
that
you
will
now
never
EVER
walk
alone.
Period.
King’s orders.
Or…maybe…you do.
(And this
my friend
is a Truth
which will
haunt you, horribly,
when you are hunted
in order to show you,
by whatever means,
in bright white lights
and yellow daffodils,
the way back home).
