for eyes

i need a quarter for my face.
my head is a gumball machine
of blue little worlds. i do not use
a shovel to search for them;
i dig with my hands.
fistfuls of dirt & soil. the smell
of a crashed car. we used to eat
wild onions when we were starving.
the onions would wink at us
& we would have to pretend
they weren't once the eyes 
of ancient boars. everything is hoofed 
at one time or another. 
i spent my eyes years ago 
on another sunrise. you were there
with your bunkbed body. 
you kissed me & turned me
into costume pearls. a string 
around your neck. i hansel & gretel 
myself back home. follow a trail
of discarded eyes i left behind.
daffodils blink & say, "you do not
want to know." i do though.
i want to know exactly how 
& where they come from. 
a basket in a grandmother's living room?
a factory full of thumbs?
i have no business wandering
so far from a source of light
but here i am in the fallow field
holding all the eyes i can find.
they are still not enough
& i do not know what else to do.
you take my hands in yours 
& tell me, "let me show you."
i do not trust you. not at all. 
last time i did you put my eyes 
in your mouth & spit them like cherry pits.
you said, "i am your eyes now." 

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