Glance

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draw a dimple on your wrist
over that scar from the third grade
that you forgot when you fell off the steps of the slide
every mark must be circled in pen
a cheap Bic ballpoint from the drugstore

draw circles underneath your eyes
the visual aides
(like a bruise)
same grey tinged with blood blue and maroon
outwards a halo of green and sallow yellow
those delicate surface veins on the eyelids
blush pink

mirror-
mirror-
mirror-

(-mirar-
mirar-
mirar-)

what are you
alluding to-?

what are you on-
you bra-burning feminist?
you, you’re sitting in my seat
your eyes are like my own
the sallow circles accusing the sleep circle
notice your environment
then take a break
breathe, then
dance arabesque around the room
take my advice
because maybe,
just maybe-
you can live forever





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