Transparent Eyeball

Leaning against a telephone pole at 1am,
watching the young night grow older:

The moon's out and the air's fair,
and I'm outside taking it all in.
It's a beautiful time of night.
Nobody about,  
but some poor soul in his cracked-out body  
being pulled up the street by that invisible rope—  
don't lie to yourself, it's as real as you and I!—  
and a drunk stumbling back from the bar,  
mumbling to himself (something terribly important, to be sure).  
 
In this place where men wear  
the years they've "done" on their sleeves like badges,  
where echoing noises in the night like as not  
leave some unlucky spirit gasping for bloodied breath,  
I stand unafraid, arms crossed,
fixed at the shoulder to this pole as if bronzed,  
as transcendental as dear auld Emerson himself.  
I see all, and none take notice  
of the thin figure idling his young life away  
on the corner of some little side-street  
which looks as if it's only there  
to appease the zoning board, for it leads nowhere  
but to the shabbier rears of these shabby houses,  
just one more rabbit-hole for police to cover  
as they break down the front doors of dealers.  
 
Indeed, the reason I play the role  
of silent eyes on this quiet night,  
not laying in bed whispering sweet nothings  
to some pretty college girl,  
is to lose myself. I come to this spot,  
and the cool air refreshes my senses...  
slightly moist, the coming day's dew coalescing,  
it cools me with it. The hot emotions du jour,  
the loudhardfast, the toxic stress,  
the cheap food and cheaper company,  
fade off with every soft tinkle  
of the windchimes next door.  
For the first time all day I notice  
the feel of my own skin.  
After a day of dealing with myself,  
I need some time away.  
 
And so I'm here,  
watching the poor soul  
lead his cracked-out body  
nervously up the shadows,  
as if anybody really cares  
that he's on his way to the house  
with the white tennis shoes out front  
for the third time this week;  
as the drunk fumbles in his pockets  
and seems surprised by his own keys.