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Dead Eyes Open, Or, How The Woman In The Attic Fled, Never To Return
My eyes are arid and cold on a portrait's insides. i am time-hardened wax and i can see wide! fungus and frost have fondled my frontside and i- did he wonder and wander in small ages? did he forget that i died? he's older and ugly and a beautiful baby, he's retinal mist. far away, far away, leaning and turning, i moan and i list!
Not flying, not walking, porous, like curtains, i hang on the dampness of spring! i've known my own scrapings for so many years, i know that something is coming! not demon, not quickly, gradual breaking glass... my knees will go out from under me! i've borne my own weight for so many years, i know the ground is dissolving! not under, not behind, not slow and torpid... i'm far-away attic frost, free and untangled!
Didn't he wonder? i shall surprise him! did he forget? i shall remind him! please hold my hand, beautiful, ugly man! i've come untangled, but we shall find frost again! dizzy and turning, you never need walk! i shall carry you, hold you, early and blinded! my son is no burden, i'm ancient with sorrow strength!
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