Kissing Hammers and Nails

Fill this page with memories
And you have a wall filled with waiting rooms
Checker tiled each just like the last
Each person pregnant
With all they’ve ever said
Many of them died in child birth
Some were never born
Like ships they dance in a metaphor
Hiding with rigid eyes in a pool of water
Glassy brassy of the keyholes they’ve looked through
Waiting for their continent to show up
And bow before them like a white rival magicians
To kiss their hand with cabernet lips
And share some cigar smoke
And hour later
But most of them just stare off into space
In thought and bantered breaths
Filling their eyes with watered down expressions
As if holding their own hand when looking homeward
But most importantly all they do is look back
Into the nothing of their heads
Flowering in petty regressions
In every photograph
Just to let their selves…
In the crazy note before them,
Let them selves
Be
Completely
Blinded.