My Eyes Are Rain

Georges Cunningham

Be the handmaiden in the window

wishing for all silence in the

bakery.

The walls of olive branches are

phones

in another undulation of the ear.

Over a hill, we sit and watch

Ourselves age rapidly and without

mercy.

I die under a monolith of regret

You die out of space and out of

breath.

The old man, the young man

The same, the difference

The product, the sum

The fallacy, the declaration.

Stillness is my mind's eye

the voyeur of assimilation,

waiting for the penny, the dime

the half-dollar of excavation.

The love we blind

with shards of atomic numbers

curates the soul

with blood and solo Carillion.

People are watched, tiny camera

A window is opened, miniscule

schooner

Xerox floods, large lumber station

Hope evades, gigantic colony.

Messages inside the eye

And ewe of creation,

Bonafide Corinthian,

The supine tomb painted red.

And here sits who I am not

As who I am vaporizes

The vicissitudes of another vignette

Corrode with a tide of fantasy.