Dead eyes stare beyond the fronds,
dead dead dead.
Their pupils are like empty saucers,
entrances into another
Knock knock on their doors,
your fist will rap,
the entrances somehow welcome us,
they gather our motivations somehow.
Hear the lashes rustling as
eyelids mechanically blink,
lubricating their glassy stares
as the mood sinks
We are afforded a means into their world
assume nothing of their histories,
their recorded images will show;
they will detail.
Knock knock blink blink,
knock blink blink,
how many combinations can we make
before the crux of the problem
The need to open our own eyes to
I’ll observe them through the fronds
as they carelessly observe me,
obfuscate the glass though
I’ll live with their means to
They are unfeeling,
they are anything but all knowing,
they are everything and anything
they wish to be,
but they will never penetrate
the outer shell which encompasses
all that is me.
I am protected by my own glassiness,
perils shall not befall me.
© 2019 Lauren M. Hancock
also known as Alice Well. All rights reserved.
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