SURVEILLANCE

SURVEILLANCE 

Robberies curdle all the time,
and friendships rot the same—
a souring in the blood,
secret motives coiling like smoke
through unlit rooms,
paths splintering in silence. When the circle bloats and breathes,
the tension claws beneath the ribs,
a ravenous gnaw that strips the bone
of every blind, wide-open trust
I poured like wine into the dark. All of it—mirage.
A vicious shimmer of truth,
a hollow echo of give-and-take,
staged by the threadbare conjurer
who yanks thrashing rabbits from midnight hats,
cold coins flashing from quivering ears. I never carved a line in stone,
never hissed a threat,
never cracked the sky with warning fire. Yet here, on this dead-still western front,
the moment yawns wide and white before me,
I stand wired,
pupils blown in merciless light— scanning for the shapes
that crouch and breathe
in the knife-sharp shadows
thrown by the blazing sun,
behind its brittle, lying glass.