The Screen Door to the Soul

 

My eyes turn to an inattentive god

Jesters dancing in the streets

These emperors are nude

And deaf

And dumb

 

My eyes turn to children

With extended bellies

No shoes

Starving smiles

 

My eyes turn to the people

That I pass on the street

No thoughts; no expression

Fingers in ears

“La La La”

 

My eyes turn to fault lines

Of dissected dreams, but

I am not to blame

It is always them

My hands are clean

 

My eyes turn to the whiskey

But it is much too harsh

Burns far too much

I melt through the cracks

 

My eyes turn to friends, but

To no avail

They are just as broken as I am

Jaded

Cynical

The fire extinguished

 

My eyes turn to nothing at all

What is left?

Imitation of life?

A bastardized Ozzie and Harriet,

That was never real to begin with