The women with the sad eyes are usually the sexiest.

New moons rolling around in their heads. Big dumb

pools you can dive into. The moon doesn’t speak

much, so you can project your longings onto her. Try

picking her out of the sky like a cherry, go on. Wrap

your tongue around the stalk of her one huge glaring

eye and see if you can tie the knot. Tongue dexterity

is a skill they teach in school. The tide of you pulls

like a dry rope, straining against cargo. Despair is

the look of the season. Heart rolling around inside

you like a stubborn pebble. Peppercorn of need.
They say these girls possessed a single eye.

Dropped to the bottom of the ocean, as if into

a glass. Half empty and filling rapidly with salt.

A thousand feet below the ocean, looking up

at things that don’t exist yet. You can’t get inside

someone else’s eyes and see through them. You

can work at rage all your life, and still have

nothing to show for it. What a terrific waste

of time, trying to make violent things beautiful.