I Can’t Tell You Who Lives Inside My Left Eye…

I can’t tell you who lives inside my left eye—
The better one which though blind
Has followed the parade all these years.

Is he bitter? Hungry? Does he laugh?
He reads weariness like a cipher.
He follows faint tracks of birds

Though he can’t see them.
This is to say he’s unreliable
But cunningly so

Fast in the mother-darkness.

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