• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 08


We wear our beady eyes on our ears
to better see the peripheries.

We highlight brows above
where they used to roll about

in search of what lay In Front,
colourful caterpillars orbiting

cavities now closed.

What lies In Front is not pretty,
like ruffled petals bursting from buds.

In Front is a vast field razed
with flames of judgement and anger.

They hate confusing beauty
created by strong hands.

They let us pass, unbeaten,
if camouflage collage passes glimpse test

from the corner of their eyes.