Sucking Stone: original poem

Something else he said,
but after:
to see the sky is only a matter of looking.

This time
when I paused to close my eyes,
I saw a man the color of corn
who’d opened his fists into tunnels.

blocky fingers haloed his open eyes:
fleshy binoculars.

He was made of rough stone,
a kind of statue or dead god.

That night, as I groped
for dropped eyeglasses
on the wooden floor

a low voice in my head said:
Suck up the night boy!

and so I did.

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~ by 15wattLasVegas on May 2, 2016.

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