january, 88 and I am twenty two.
image of a dilated whirlpool of pupil
resting on a crying
blood dript penny, spider web
or uplifted pupil, a man walx
slow under sun in pyramid
of eyebrow
fingers on spoons
stirring coffee and on matches
flikt in ashtrays and a pen
scrawling to my left, to show
i am not dead buried beneath
my eyelids. in union w gesture
of hands, i pop my eye from
it's socket and place it on the
table,

 Woodwards food floor
always stages a long line
up, colors of groceries from
descending escalator.
a woman grows old in
isle 3, i left her there when
i was younger and much
shorter, i bought an orange and
an apple and a japanese
pear fruit and broccoli.