What Do They See?

Eyes are always watching closely

Every contour, every bump, every flaw

The big pores the splitting crevices of plains

And the pinky flesh perked

The crater beneath the windows that sit

beneath a furry peak; the irises, deep brown, scatter within

The lumps of fat, the blue-lightning veins

Wrinkles that fold like napkins in a drawer

The peeling, the dark spot in vain

To the tips of the fingers to the tips of the toes,

A shudder of urgency, like a wind blown

Every beady eye burning holes in the flesh

The rising invsible smoke of insecurity coalesce

Fleeing away from shadows on the perimeter

Under attack, the eyes are sealed shut

Yet they still sense the bulging judgement that spills over

Oh, the crowd of mingling Animals

What do they see?