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"Nintendo-Colored Eyes: Exterior"

I squabble with, harken to, open each day as blank as scissors over bleeding paper. I quantify and car crash, over-exaggerate, scatter like metal on the road, still burning, still hot from having broken. I am outskirts, holes for a voyeur, the TV left on in a house no one returns to. I am a suit of flies, a swarming sound, the dark so thick it forgot what it was, becoming light. Every day, the same child wanders away from his life, crying mud. He and I are the same kind of over, the same kind of done with. Today, a pill is born, a billboard erected. A baby with a cheap watch for a heart is made, Nintendo-colored eyes. Every day, we find the world. It has a source, a switch. I cannot turn it on or off.

 

 

Corey Zeller is the author of Man vs. Sky (YesYes Books, 2013). His work has appeared in Puerto del Sol, Mid-American Review, Indiana Review, The Colorado Review, Diagram, The Kenyon Review, Salt Hill, West Branch, Third Coast, The Literary Review, The Paris-American, New York Tyrant, New Orleans Review, Green Mountains Review, The AWL, The Rumpus, PEN America, Chorus (MTV Books), among others.