Raison d'être

Raison d'être
by Bryon Slack

How might I pluck out my eyes,
so that you could see
the rooms behind them?
Could I place a quill
against my ear,
tilt my head
and spill the words
upon the page?

Would the letters form in ranks,
march in lines
to form the stanzas?
Could they cluster and cling
to form a silhouette
your eye might follow
toward the shape?

Could my heart
flow through my fingers
to stain the paper
with its weather?
Or would its brilliance
overwhelm?

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Fragmented Memories

Paradox