dessicated ovenbird You approach me with a face full of one hundred eyes, each one fine tuned to reveal the damage done by so much seeing. Is it possible I’ve forgotten to blink? It’s possible. The latches that close the shutters in my skull have been broken since birth and now I see through etched glass, my cornea abraded and carrying scars like the salt slick hide of a humpback whale. Now the surface scatters the light and a patch of fog floats across my vision, and no amount of blinking will make the distance clear. Maybe I’ve cried enough to use up my lifetime allotment of tears, leaving ducts dry and rimmed red with rust. Now I spend what it takes me two hours to earn on tears in tiny bottles to replace what time has taken. And still, I will not close my eyes against what this life sees fit to show me. 251018 what's it to you? who go blather from