“At what point does the light leave the eyes…?”
Is it flowing from follicles out of Eustachian tubes
Down the steep back roads at the nape of the neck?
Does light leave screaming and laughing?
Is it projected in to the air
To the amazed
Who, dazed, didn’t get the joke
Didn’t tell a joke, didn’t wince or poke
Because the light still lives behind pupils
Pulled to points.
“Oh my child, my child
Don’t act so wild!”
Says Mommy to Bobby
“Where is your med?
Did it roll under your bed?”
In twenty years:The spittle driveled chin peering over a trash bin
Reaching in to his singing cerebellum
For quotes from John to hurl
At the begrimed tomato can labels
When did he stop feeling the stubble
A microscopic snow forest that curls and itches?
When did he not see the dirt pushed over the edge?
In to wrinkles like bodies flopping in to a salty river.
They make a map of his vacancy, his vagrancy
His insistent necromancy.
Bobby’s Girl :Is there anyone who knows where the forty year old goes
, with her blackened eyes behind crashing waves
Of dyed dark hair, with sight pushed a thousand yards out?
Does she preside over some dead red planet’s
Flaming core? or does she speak with a shade
Without the aid of a cell phone.
“Bobby, my child, Mommy will tell you, the light just leaves
Suitcases packed glancing at his watch
While the body is left with a bouquet of electric surges
That urge the ears to receive sounds
But have no place to send them.
Sights surprise eyes who shuffle papers
While the boss is gone and the poor tongue
Mashes textures like a constrictor
A mere conveyor belt for the teeth.”
The shuffle is muffled
By the wind’s chant
And the two shall become one
In the cold sunlight.
Joshua Kight
2/26/10