I could stare at my face, unmoving, never quite knowing for what I search. I trace over new markings, blemishes, laugh lines. Some blankness behind these lines drifts as fog, obscuring the seeking, the seeker. So many times I glaze and spread thick honey over these lips, petrifying them, freezing sticky-solid the creases caused from speaking, sucking, kissing lips unlike mine. While looking at jewel colored eyes, thinking of myself mirrored in lighter jade-olive eyes, they become more prominent than my thoughts. I cannot touch or see my thoughts, like my skin, yet my eyes and thoughts mirror one another in reality: they exist, palpable probe-able probable. Palpable while they shape my days on this likely planet. Probe-able: I can delve deep into them, search and dig for quite similar possibility and depth. Probable, a given. Probable, otherwise they would exist in an other form, a probable shape/color. We only live in probability. Improbability exists in imagination--that plane of impossible picture frames, that deep purple ghost floating behind the actual.
What actuality lurks in your eyes, your mind? If I stare hard enough, gaze deep enough, extra intense effort could afford only a palpable change in my own pair. I do not wish to see change in your eyes, or my own. I can barely grasp their existence now, their color and number, the easy arithmetic of floundering thoughts. How unsure my eyes must appear to you, world! How beautifully they spy clouds and stealthily steal a semblance of your imaginings. That part warps my eyes. Your thoughts don't have to mirror the truth there, they could obscure staring into morose surety, unmoving conscience, unguilty gaze. Well, eyes, we share all of these attributes--except solid staring. How naive to think I have the sole pair of eyes seeing... Seeing, telling, smiling, talking, shaking, convulsing, and (overall) keeping in synch, together, unified in direction by an unseen, grounding magnetization. I have touched the magnet behind my eyes, it pulls them back, center-forward focused. Do not curve-curl inward for long--it is empty in there; empty but for existence...empty of non-thought, non-existence...full of reality and non-reality...lacking the staleness of still.
1 comment:
I liked it. It was so beautiful. I wrote a song. Mom likes it mainly, but when I expressed my view of...um, god's existence, she said I was throwingit in her face? ah, well, what do you do?
But you should read the poem I wrote on my blog. I posted! (hurray, Ally!!!) But this was very pretty.
And I can't wait for the new harry potter movie!
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