Sometimes what you hear is the curse,
When you know that below everything
Is a rudiment,
Is the way things work,
The way things stand, which doesn’t change
Through the eons bordering the sun
.
You might stand up and project this way,
But someone else might, too
And so you meet eye saws,
Fornicating, dealing with death in
The middle of the day, a sunny day, in
The middle of your town,
So you saw what there is to see, now
You know
.
It’s easy to say things,
It’s hard to go your own way,
Amidst shavings of your eyelashes’ debris
That stutters as it tries to speak under spotlights