Window Pain

There is a man

with a window

for a face.

He is perturbed;

it troubles him

because

he can’t see out

but any(every)one can see in.

The rotten hair curtains

hang down—frame his edges—

but do not offer any protection.

they are lacerated

beyond repair:

worms of death and decay

have torn each into each.

Each day he feels

the uniqueness of

the people who pass him—

but no consent.

His cracked countenance

gives no indication

that it hurts or

that he actively resists

the daily rape from the passerby.

But each day he

spreads into nothing

spreads into nothing.

He grows weak.

staring, staring—

there is no closure.