his eyes are the only points of alive

his eyes
are the only
points of alive

red: bordered
black
wrapped

in creases
over stifled
stitched lips

a not quite
face partial
bronze faceted/butchered feet

fixed to wood
crack jointed
identity flensed

he is
a folk
device – anarchy

or revolution painted
in plain sight
placed specifically

over foliage
greens, a woman
at the market, a

his eyes are the only points of alive

cactus almost
in bloom
against adobe

blocks – mud
dust tones
accentuating vermillion

under the peasant
hat thorns are not
there in his cropped black hair

don’t forget – he will not ask
to be a blood sacrifice and his
eyes will never meet yours.