A History of Looking

Photo by Peter Burdon on Unsplash

I said to God, Listen, I’m through with eyes,
with orbs of delight, all that mud,

windows into souls,
and the apples of my mind’s pie.

I’ve put on my skin costume,
know my implications.

And with a level stare at the frame before me,
I said, Spare me your oily metaphysical quandaries.

I had been distracted by painting after painting.
But here was the frame, so like my body.

Ribbons of leaves in relief floated like sloughed-off skin.
Gilt petals coiled like a bowel’s lavish twists.

Beneath my gaze, it flexed
as burnished vines became spine and sphincter.

Listen, God, I said, I’ll make a deal with you.
You wanted me to love you, but to love

is to be eaten alive, you gluttonous beast.
The frame looked like wreaths of braided tongues.

Listen, I said, teach me to be hungry.
And the frame glinted, just glinted.