bailisk

what is it exactly
that happen in the eye of
the basilisk?

is this where black holes 
send their teeth?

where the ocean's
bottoms give out & everything
is sucked down the drain

i'm sitting on the edge
of my parent's bathtube
with a trickle of blood 
trailing from my heel 
like a ribbon

razor in my hand

i feel bad for him

crawling along on
his stomach 

does he learn to 
walk with his eyes closed?

afraid to stare at 
even the blades of grass
for fear they'll wither
turn brittle & dry 
contorting like match sticks

i have always been bad
at making eye contact

his eyes pours out
all over me-- battery acid 
on the bed sheets

i keep the burns to myself 
& tucked me knees into
my chest

become a dried lima bean 
& wait for them to use
me as a bingo chip

on occasion he punishes himself
with his own reflection 
in the water

the smell of rain 
coaxing him out of his
hole dug out of the musty earth

this is the pond
where my father & i would
fish with potato bread on
the hook

& the algae would come
like green bride's veils
to keep us from looking
beneath the surface

he moves away the plant
matter until he can 
make out his aching shadow
on the surface

i'm watching from
the bench where the ducks
are biting each other
necks over bread crusts

we we're allowed to have
white bread but we could
feed it to the ducks

the sight of
his body gives him a dull pain
like fingers on 
a cold metal railing

he stares longer than he should
until his head throbs & he can
feel every single rib
like a second mouth

i wipe the mist from the bathroom
mirror & watch the surface 
of the moon leaving blotches
on my cheeks & forehead

i want a face wash to scrub
out all the details

blank mannequin face

no eyes & smooth nose 

level the earth like
dynamite bloody in the ankles
of the mountain

i want to comfort him

to tell him that he doesn't
have to keep trying to find
meaning in his suffering

i wish someone would
have told me that a long
time ago

before i tried to make 
metaphors out of my own
bones & flesh

he comes back 
to mirrors & dark windows
to get an idea of what could
be so horrible about
his eyes that they kill
instantly

he weeps in the park bathroom

& curls up alone
like an apostrophe

i want to find him

i can find something on
the ceiling to stare at while
i pet the back
of his head with my thumb

oh basilisk

there is nothing fair
about what bodies we get

but we can make do 

i want to see 
you through the algae
on the surface of the lake

we can eat the leftover
potato rolls & gaze off
in opposite directions
like past lovers 

on one last rendezvous