SINGLE. SOLITARY. WORD.

It’s as if you awoke the sleeping giant
A giant child with eyes like spoons
Reflecting everything distorted, inaccurate
The eyes I had for years
Sleeping in wait of some
Blundering inspiration.

In their half-asleep stupor they
Stumble around the room and fall down
Skinning their eyeball knees on some
Rough, aged edge or another
Yet they can’t be taken off yours
This is peculiar.

You seem free enough, happy enough
To give my spoony, warped mirror eyes
A fair enough glance, albeit short-lived
Because you must know it’s dangerous
I’ll contract my old vertigo in
This ancient funhouse

The bandages off her old wounds
The giant girl lumbers through your lawn
Misstepping through chords and guitar strings
Tripping on something there is
There is something. There is!
She just waits to fall into it.