'THE POET IS BLIND'The poet is blindDidn’t you knowHe sits on his chairWatching the glass beforeIt is filled with lightHe is cold and alone uponThe contoured shadowsAgainst the wallBut he is aliveHe is like candles in a corridorWith golden warmth in his cheeksOver the linesOf his naked physiqueWere he to speakYou would find that your lipsWere full of tearsThat could not fallThat would wash across your faceAgainst the insides of your cheeksWith an adorned sort of agonyFor he is beautifulWhen he is silentBut he is dangerous when heRecites wordsWhen he looks away from the windowAnd into your lensLike a carnivorous animalAbout to snap some delicateCreature’s neckHe is completeAnd it becomes too muchYou want to crawl upInside your black cameraYou want to hide behind the strapsBecause he is nakedAnd bared and completeAnd it is his worldYou are just a lensYou are just a circle of glassWith a flashYou are just a man whoCreates light and shadowsAcross the featuresOf the poet and he is speaking, nowHe is screaming at you with hisJavelin eyesBut you are backed so farAgainst the brick wallThat you will never fit him inIt allAnd all you have to do is rememberThat the poet is blind.DLM 7-14-10
