The Eyes Have It

Have you ever been walking down the street, minding your own business, in a hurry to get wherever you’re going, maybe to an appointment with your tax man, or maybe just to meet an old friend for coffee, when you happen to meet one of those people’s eyes? Homeless people, or as my old man’d called them–bums. And did you ever get the feeling that until you looked at them, met their eyes, they didn’t truly exist? As people, that is. Kind of like window dressing. Or a street light. There but not there.

Last night I looked. And now I can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t do nothing but think about those eyes.

I’d come out of Delmonico’s feeling fine, belly full of prime rib, a good-looking woman on my arm, and the night still young. All through dinner Veronica’d been playing footsie under the table and batting those mile-long eyelashes at me. I’d known what dessert was going to be, and it was going to be good.
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Legion

it starts
and it ends
takes flight on dark wings
and soars from my pen

hell rises up
heaven falls
demons rush in
and pass through the walls
of the human psyche shored up
by gossamer gods and magic pills
tromp through mephitic mires of disbelief
brandishing swords, counting kills

nothing can protect you
not pleas, not prayers, nor unholy deals
from the metaphysical monsters I’ve set free
to nip and bite, sink razor teeth into your heels
and drag your bloody carcass down
into the tenebrous pits below
to rip apart your flesh
and feast upon your soul

it starts
and it ends
takes flight on dark wings
and soars from my pen

An old poem from a previous blog.

Photo from Pixabay