City of Eyes

This city is an eye,
Icy veins of steel and asphalt
Embossed web-like across a pupil.
Grains of light scratch against the lid of night:
Blinking red, green, and yellow;
Fluttering neon crystals—
All are captured on the glossy membrane,
But nothing can illuminate the conscious abyss beneath.

Buildings here are clad in mirror-armor,
Polished sheets of glass
Where only half-bodies can reflect at once.
So they slice away my back,
Like glaring, silver guillotines.
My insides withdraw tightly
As they press against frosted panes.
I am plastered alone on the one-way window.

I can hear the squelching of eyes,
Swiveling in sticky sockets,
Probing from the other side.
Their gazes are rough fingers,
Poking, prodding, pinching at my exposed organs.
I see them in the streets too,
Eyes peering at me from around corners—
They are only extra mirrors to this glass-house.

A pair approach.
Two eyes stare into mine:
Parallel mirrors.
I see my reflection.
I see my reflection’s reflection.
I see my reflection’s reflection’s reflection.
An infinite procession of self.
Now...I can never look away.