Seeing blind

Does a bat that

is missing a wing

hear the echo

of the second

off the rebound

of the first

after it is ripped off

by a bird?

Does it hear the scrunch-scrunching

of itself in another?

Does it listen for bugs

who are there to support

it, even if they don’t

realize?

Or does it notice

nothing in the darkness

that brings light?

*

There is a blindness

that opens my eyes

to the abyss around me

and that lurks

in between

her thighs

or just the bottle

that I inhale,

biting on glass until

my gums are

flossed with cuts

and I see

the shape

of a silhouette

that has my form

but it is just a bundle

of chairs and tables

and empty cups

chopped on top of each other

so that they tumble over

a few minutes later.

It scares me.

I close my eyes.

I see fully.

*

How sweet

for a butterfly to land

on my finger

as I write this poem

and

how unsweet

for it

to realize it cannot

steal away my nectar.

I am waste.