{written for my high school creative writhing teacher, Mr. Heller}
Your eyes still have splinters
of crystal in them, gathering the light
in Tyndall effect flashes.
The falsification feels faded; once
it felt transparent...
Braided lines~which you probably have
yet to notice,etched by too
many nights of pushing "The Bat Poet" at
your mud babies~distract me.
A tiny glare, from your glasses, humanizes
you and me. I've noticed moist anger
on the rims. Probably tears but you valiantly
claim it's only the splinters catching the light.
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