Eye-sockets

mere bruises akin to closed fists,
or two coins, the eyeless, has
not seen, is not afraid
of darkness, bothers not
about a loss he never senses
and let not what he cannot have
his cheer of mind, undermine
or how he and people look like,
sees he internally, eternally.
He feels
his way to where he is-
a loud place-birds chirping,
can smell autumn, taken
by the warm wind, bites
a fruit that changes
his tongue. He traces
with his fingers
the unseen wrinkles
and balding head and
evaluates
the loss as superficial,
claims he never what's not
his, without walls, it's
an enormous place oneself.



Poetry by yoonoos peerbocus
Read 17 times
Written on 2025-04-15 at 09:00

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