The locusts devour all the sliver of flesh encompassing the passenger\'s eyes
yet leaves its sclera whole.
Pupil dilated, iris bloodied through
the passenger, unwilling to look away, stays staring into the tinted mirror
Convinced of his beauty.
Because, surely, not without his lashes, his vibrant hazel colour
could he possibly sit palatably on the observer\'s tongue.
What does that make of him, then?
Perhaps the most familiarized
Not an item but in-tandem
with the unit portrayed and the soul that occupies it
Available to comprehend its true form.
The young woman cloaked by fur
looking back at you, imploring
What without her tinted lips and rosy cheeks
does she entice you?
Or is this nakedness not nakedness but deprivation
not of the soul but the essence
of the conception of health, the absence of pain, and happiness?
Which, regardless, he does not possess.
So long as it does not persuade you
to consider what does not necessarily exist in satisfaction.
This passenger could stay sitting in his signature until the very end of time
but this train makes stops, pulling him in motion
of a shared destination,
whether he sits alone in that cart or not.
Because the locusts ate about his eyes, yet did not consume his portion
Rather, he finds,
did they liberate him from those harnesses
so that his movement about those apertures in his skull
react most sensibly to external influence
that he may see, though through a bloodied lens,
the absurdity of it all.