wrapped up in the magnificent allure of the eye

see note for reviewers.

growing up,

s/he had been told that

“the eyes were the windows to the soul” &

as quickly as these things inevitably happen,

s/he decided for her/himself that this “soul” thing

was strictly a matter of imagination,

knowing full well that one had about as much of a chance in attaining such a thing

as one did throwing up fists full of sand into the mouth

when having thought only a moment ago,

the oasis was in fact a pool of clear light-greenish blue aqua---

then sitting in the corner of a quiet library,

one closes their eyes after reading bataille &

attempts the way to illustrate the artistry

the aurora borealis

the reflecting of moon beams &

the mirror-imagining of all vastly interesting shades of light

found in the iris of another

trouve dans la taille d'un autre grand les yeux,

how such wonder is harder to describe for those that don’t attribute everything to a

dreamt up imaginary friend---

for her/him,

even drawing the eyes of the one whose face they cannot free from their mind,

does not calm or bring comfort in the least &

the nonbeliever wants desperately to sum up what it is

that pulls them in,

what this other human being has within what seems like a purely

aesthetic

manifestation---

after all, they are only eyes, no?

 

with poetry, whipped up words,

one tries to bring their feelings to the surface

with song, with melody, with instruments & electronic embellishments,

one tries to impress, one tries to bring forth the wonder that another has

provoked within them,

certainly with paints, with the visual arts, with everything from great conversation to

a walk in the park

one takes the journey even further

still trying to come to terms with how they became so very

wrapped up in the magnificent allure of another’s

eyes.

 

and we cannot look away

and we cannot look away

and we cannot look away.

Author's Note

“From women's eyes this doctrine I derive:
They sparkle still the right Promethean fire;
They are the books, the arts, the academes,
That show, contain, and nourish all the world.”

-from Love’s Labour Lost, Shakespeare


*rust painting of an eye (as pictured) by Fairuzza Balk