Sight is only
The foremost line of
Understanding

And you can spin truths on end, like
Unclogging sink drains,
And your eyes will follow the curve
Round, with untapped concentration
Catching little bits and pieces of
The subconscious in the tide
Now, the eyes follow the curve of a breast
And the dishwater surf disappears
Like hard liquor for depressants
Something buzzes close to your ears.
Suicide. Or Fornication, or drowning
A loved one. The sad keening
Of your own last breaths, before
You recognize the noise for what it is-
Air escaping up from the pipes
And the truth that no longer swirls in agony
But lays, as grime, at the bottom of the wash
Like a prayer for the flies

And do you ever think about
Swatting the fly
Before your palm burns
With nothing but the counter top beneath it?

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