(no subject)
i can't always see it, but where
i go an army precedes me, clearing bloody paths;
naturally i follow them, not knowing or caring why they exist, or
when they were created (it hardly merits thought - who worries
about the origin and purpose of a road?)
what matters is that there's something at the end: a job,
a whore, free checking with interest, a warm bowl of beer nuts.
but every now and then i catch my eye in
some reflective surface; i'm unconscious to
the changing landscape, but my pupils seem to know, as
they spread out like spilled oil.
i go an army precedes me, clearing bloody paths;
naturally i follow them, not knowing or caring why they exist, or
when they were created (it hardly merits thought - who worries
about the origin and purpose of a road?)
what matters is that there's something at the end: a job,
a whore, free checking with interest, a warm bowl of beer nuts.
but every now and then i catch my eye in
some reflective surface; i'm unconscious to
the changing landscape, but my pupils seem to know, as
they spread out like spilled oil.