The dark pupil of the eye
is a fly pressed against glass
legs as thin as lashes
and wings like the lens of a camera
that sees right through
to where two bodies hang
in heat, covered in bullets.
Here, the eyes adjust
to the darkness in every hole.


Love’s stare
is a sunburn
through a magnifying glass
and it peels skin off in
bits thin as hymens and eyelids.
Here, the distance
between the moist
and the macabre
is the same
as the distance
between Mussolini
and his mistress
hanging from meat hooks:
the lens of a camera
captures two bodies
deep in the sockets
of an underworld
where only flies
have eyes.