CLOTH SUNGLASSES

[RJ]

My sunglasses are made from cloth.
I wake to clothe my eyes.
I will present myself into public soon.
I will be visible, my eyes sheltered from yours.
Dressed to mourn – if there is such an outfit?
Organizing the faces that continue to change as the motorized billboards do along the highway.
Alert nerves that have not slept with me, and still no appetite.
I will need to alter my face at the instant when our faces finally meet.
I will magnify the rushed haircut, can I keep the little hairs that are glued to your silent forehead?
I fear that the foundation will stain my hands and my memory.
Tan liquid transformed to powder may never relinquish itself from that choice.
Should I smile?
I wish this instant to expire.
Empty peace in an already forgotten face.
Not quite familiar, but those eyes are will not elevate me anymore.
Should I cry over you?
Flushing the past through carotid pipes.
I might comment on the flowers because even they will die soon.
And at that moment, I will make the choice to excuse myself.
I will have played the town idiot.
To fuss over inanimate objects at a funeral.
To become lost in the symbolism of a lost life.
To feed the bed bugs that nibble on my rest.
I will replace the windows of my misfortune with fabricated sunglasses and walk away.
Covered and cowardly, I will walk away.

[Nazz]

Never more alone than when I hit town.. Nice fractured sort of time-traveling, space-shifting moment, RJ..