The Eyes Have It

The eyes have it, every time,
they will always betray more
of my many, many inner selves
than any other feature on my faces
or fabricated facades. The eyes have it,
whether they leer or lust, hope or hate,
shy from the sky or refract flames. See
and necessarily be seen, the eyes have it.
Long-lashed or squinting, heavy lidded
or widened in awe, bruised with insomnia
or refreshed by deep sleep: the eyes have it.
My irises may transmogrify, reflect outer shifts
in rainbowed seasons; my corneas may transmit
messages and carry tricky truths from my turmoiled
id and super ego but even in manifold contradictions,
the eyes have it. Mish-mashed melting-pot of multiple
selves maraud, trash my insides, yet with utmost clarity,
the eyes have it. The eyes have it and never mislead or lie.