Left-Eye-Lazy-Love

I track my ups and downs,

but not my lefts and rights,

or my rights and wrongs.

I get caught staring at my shadows,

and crawling towards the sun.

On my eyelids are hieroglyphic imprints

from longing for the stars, whether it be something pure

like a dream or a vision,

or a scar from some UV cancer

that feeds on my skin that makes my hair stand erect

and salute.

I’m begging for, desiring for

some warm atmospheric touch.

Staring at shadows, exhaling dirt and secrets

to a doctor or something divine--

Searching for somewhere to cry, whether its appropriate or not.

My shadows cast vast across a barren desert.

The heat. The crust. The dryness. The crackle. The foreboding.

Somewhere so desolate that a shadow stands as an unwelcome stranger;

sometimes we make love here.

Sometimes our love making doesn’t show our love,

but it is in the left-eye lazy-eyed gazes,

and that is where I forget my rights,

and my ups, and my lefts, and my wrongs.