Eyes - Poem by Mark Knapik
says their crinkles
them both as wrinkles.
More like crow’s feet
but it’s not really the eye is it?
Picture ovals with sunbursts blasting;
craters stuck with a precariousness of chance, crying.
Dad said you only have one set
better take care of them.
One of grandpas married a BB.
Oh, the humour of it all
can swoon multitudes of species
offering sense of enlightenment
for all the blind to see.
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