Contact

The Field – Over The Ice

Do you feel lucky?

They seemed to say.

Tissue cameras creep

over every inch of me.

Frozen.

Foreign orbs

observe, absorb.

The eyes, the eyes, and their frightening lies.

Black and white and color dyes.

He turns away from me,

and the waves recede.

I’m only shot when I see

the whites of their eyes.

And I’m surrounded by them all.

Prying pupils

dilate

relay

roll

repeat.

I won’t let you see me see.

You see?

On and on we dawn these rituals.

Hide and seek with our peripherals.