These tourists with their
twitch and snap head turn
death-ray focus
Go home
Go back indoors
This is public space
not an extension of your family fantasy
I am not TV
Pop your bubble
Fuck off
~ ~ ~
The hand
was open
not pulling
not a fist
I'd like to believe
It's missing
I'm looking for it
in need
I don't know why I left it where I did
– not a clean hand
~ ~ ~
It is a cruel, harsh light I use to dissect
maybe the sun in the desert
or a focussed lamp
it shrivels life to brittleness
reflects back
burns my eyes