On Looking

A tumor bloomed in my muted throat, I had to duct tape my mind to the wordless, had to be a spy in a watchers eye. I'm looking at a lion staring into a camera; under its heavy paw a gazelle also peering into a lens as if both were waiting, paused, wanting to be witnessed. Every day needs a death dance to keep us wanting to survive for the people, the people watching. I'm looking through a shop window at televisions revealing all this, plus my in-looking gaze. It’s important to look good as time drains away in its usual hap-hazard way.