Doors

He sat in silence, staring through the wall

Eyes close, focused with that other eye,

The third one no one opens, knows or sees.

Ganglia shivered about it like lashes

And the wall, it wasn’t one, you know,

But WAS a door, open wide

Swinging slowly in no breeze at all.

He watched to see what might scuttle out,

Scorpion stinger raised and dripping

But nothing came, and silence,

Like the wall with a door for an eye,

Stared back at him and wondered

What might scuttle out of him…

They gave him a wide birth and whispered

In voices reserved for the dead…