91

These eyes seem old
I've seen more in this generation
than all those dead and cold
could have ever foretold
what more do I need to be
tired hinges
rusty whinges
as my lashes flutter
and my lids close
bloodshot and bold
too tired to doze
I can't keep them closed
or the whole world
I spun up
comes crashing
broken saucers flying
shattered tea cups
burnt-out spheres
dried up tiers of tears
ducks plucking feathers
from the tailspin
of my hidden tailfin
swimming in the dark
is always fun
to chase a spark
gooey hot fire
flipping the switches
of my retina
pupil a twitching tire
a hungry whore
soaking up more and more
lighting the torch of a trillion pores
a photonic score
hitting my two open sores
I've seen so much
yet always more in store