The Eyes Are Silent, Losing to the Mouth

The eyes are silent, losing to the mouth. Frozen like ships in port, worn out by monotonous runs. Toward the fallen little stars of pale edelweiss the gaze strains. The dilated pupil drinks in the light. A spike in blood pressure reminds me gently, and so far tactfully, that heartbeats can't be bought with all the cash you've got. The arm aches. A stitch in the side. And vertebra presses toward vertebra. The game of dreams in its untouched box was long since dropped from the weekly report. The mouth fell silent. Toward the squinting eye a hopeless phrase broke loose, to see the world through the prism of change before the game's finale turns it all to dust.