2/23/92
L.A.

Behind His Eyes

There was nothing behind his eyes
As he stood leaning in no particular direction
No hint of recognition,antennae broken off
His life open for speculation
The truth packed away somehow
To choose to look and not to see
Restless hands against denim thighs
That could be capable of subtle beauty
And waves of tactile kindness
Or then again,a killing blow…

Will he vanish into these people I claim
I never once was like
When there was nothing behind my eyes?