What's Missing Is The Eyeballs

I Want To Kiss God On His Nose And Watch Him Sneeze And So Do You. Not Out Of Disrespect. Out Of Pique. Out Of A Man-to-man Thing.

Thumbs Grow Into My Throat. I Wear Slaps Like A Spot Of Rouge.

The Windows, The Starving Windows That Drive The Trees Like Nails Into My Heart.

I Would Like To Bury All The Hating Eyes Under The Sand Somewhere.

Blue Eyes Wash Off Sometimes.