Glasses by Russell Gordon

can’t stand wearing glasses.

locked eyes with you

so securely fastened, rustproof

but it’s the glass that meets your gaze

as does light, wind or dust—I pass through.

a glass roof and ceiling, sealing from the elements

all-seeing eye

of a storm

a distance afar apart away a way around long ago

ignore the past a doorway.

adore the present you threw me into when you

cut me in two after you crawled through the whole and you

made me a spectacle

made me some spectacles

fashionably fashioned from some old bones you

found at a zoo.

I crawl through, shuddering, drawing the shutters

soundproof windows to the soul

shatter.

 

stand tall and bare faced

a flood of ichor in the veins

dammed

damned

so cold and mortal… no more

please

I,

a trapeze in a glass house’s ceiling

gasping for empty tear-sacs in vain

the trap is the apple the core behind my eye my socket

all-

seeing eye,

all

in my pocket

reach to throw it all away

can’t reach

can’t even reach the seventh day

the seventh son

my seventh one named Babylon,

my one-night stand with Heaven

my love, my

circular circus.

can’t stand it, wearing glasses.