Excerpt for EYE for-eign EYE by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

EYE for-eign EYE

poems by

rj williams

Hiding in a Pot of Jade

A simple post on her Facebook page.
Reading it, the
imagery got lodged firmly
Deep in that division-line between hemispheres
Of my brain.

I see more than frogs peeking from behind
Clay pots; I see Alice in Wonderland imagery,
Hear a shaman speaking in foreign tongue 
With cut rattlesnake's tail in hand
Shaking feverishly.
Several "plops" & bubble pops
Of planets falling from space
Landing in a pool
Of boisterous kids stuck in tire tubes.

More than a frog hides in that pot of Jade;
Fresh-cut grass sprinkling like pepper
Over medium rare, still-sizzling, steak.
A key to the front door alongside
Broke-back cigarette butts
Half-buried in clay pot soil
, a strange spectacle,
As if a miniature frozen fallen army.

And the sun dips quickly 
Behind towering trees, taking warm hugs
And songbirds singing
And the sudden sting
Of molested bees
To wherever Alice in Wonderland
Stories come from.

Cracked Face Doll

In baroque dress-- 
A tapestry azure
Void of playfulness
San Andreas fault expression
Now cemented
An air of halcyon swept aside
By staggered eyes and bulbous jaw, 
Askew so demented

A shelf ornament
Knocked to the ground by feline,
As if the cliff
She dove from--glass face on boulders--
Turbulent tides swirl about her ears,
Seaweed tangling
Within her blond hair & shoulders

Perched once more
So statuesque, a keepsake memento
Where dust collects
And rays of sunlight
Rarely caress
Distortion on once cherubic features
Now mostly hidden in the recesses
Of all things loved.

The Un-ironed Parts of My Face

Tic-tac toe graph
Used to be lines on paper
For a game I played in grade school.
This mirror that I look into
Has a man looking back
With diesel engine facial-hair plume,
And vinyl LP needle-grooves,
Rings around eyes a little smaller
Than those of Saturn...
The tint of old greenish glass bottles
Of the kind hidden in treasure-hunt stores;
Peers out from deeper now 
Within the recesses of flesh universe.

Those grade school girls
Played games of hop-scotch
Now that chalk template exists again
At odd angles cheek-to-cheek on me;
Forehead large enough for a solar panel,
Too, marked with the days & hours
The way captains do their log...
Prisoners do their walls...
The way giant trees fall
And lay there cross-hatching mother Earth.

And I played pinball back in the day,
Had 2 brothers, now just one...
Ran long-pass patterns with the boys
Before the grid-iron etched 
Its brail
le-effect story 
Across the hills & valleys
On this mask of man.

Now my shirts I take
To the dry cleaners,
A little steam goes a long way
In repaving roads.
When I almost drowned
At 7 years old... how smooth
The pool-side edge I reached for.
The pool's bottom texture
Like the inner seashell...
How wet marbles dance their way
Out of one's hand...
How lines cross first holidays
Then decades
Become the thread of needle--
Stitching together time's corrosive fractal-art;
These pieces distorting, falling apart,
As seen in the silent sea reflection
Before me.

About Emerald Pastures, Rainbow Flowers & Mouse Carcass Stuck to Sole of Shoe

Cinnamon sideburns with farmhouse angle stature
Ghosts with ropes in knots around necks
Clouds collide into mountain tops
So quiet that cactus needles
Are heard popping invisible bubbles

Drums are beating
In a parallel world
By bronzed men & women clothed with earth,

The rain hears them and answers.

Flies are mating on a dog's ear,

Its body open accordion-like,
Tire tracks for ribs---

Eyes open with a glaze watch tires zip passed

Along the curb.

The Pied Piper gets ahead of himself,
Beneath dulcetic notes
A stiff mouse on his shoe sole

Traffic lights stuck on red,
Robots in cars on cell phones
Dressed so uncanny, as if human.

A deep water diver holds breath...
The ocean
now a stack of books
Atop a paper-thin cockroach.

Sharp cheddar cheese being grated,
Fingertips too,
Wrist-watches in drawers
Need batteries...
Souls need more than
Ferraris and fake boobs.

Love is spin-drift...lovers drown in tsunamis.

Sex is a fast-food cheeseburger, few bother with the fries.

Somewhere a rainbow arcs
Above a Matador's cape,
A truck-sized dark cloud
Has him stuck on its horns.
Spring's flowers are blending
How rivers flow...
Bumblebees interact with them
And the mantis among thorns.

Painted a Woman, with Backwards Feet

People saw the Hindenburg crashing
In a flaming heap--believed the moon had landed.
I painted a nude woman with strange tone accents,
Some said she had backwards feet.

You there, in the pastel confetti ensemble, 
Is that a coffee stain on your cheek...
or just a continent-sized birth mark?
All the jelly-filled donuts are leaking
And the doughnut shop marquees
Are a cracked hour-glass cascade waterfall
of sugar drowning everyone's toes...
Hiding the direction those phalanges
Are facing.

Overhead jet engine rattles roots of trees
too big to hold like pencils, they'll be
paper-mache sticky and part of roof beams.

Her nipples are aquatic, her lashes move
How sea horses gallop;
The background just dandruff flake
From the sun
Blanketing the world's shoulders.
A vase of spindly long-stem flowers
Caught in the shade of B.B. King's
Fine-tuned fluttering notes.
When you blink 
Does the paint scheme rearrange
or just the painting's title?
Come again... you tell me.

Flake Food of the Fish Kind

My belt
A matte black color
With modern buckle to match;
Imitation leather,
Worn in public 3 times.
That's all the purposeful use
I got out of it--my "money's worth part."

I still use it around my waist but...
Only when at home working or lounging.
So deceptive the look; all fancy
For household chores & upkeep.
It's flaking its life away. 
Coming apart every other day
In large flakes of the fish food kind
From the belt's backside.
I see pieces
of faux leather on floor weekly.
Sure, I have other belts but...
I'm still milking my money's worth out of
This one.


Sweet square melts in mouth
In a crude oil consistency & hue
Beneath cotton sheets perfumed nipples
Pink as the most
anemic red rose
Soften in an after-sex slumber;
A fly orbits the maiden's O-zone
In a thousand zipper-opening symphony

A baseball bat in corner
Of egg-shell tint room
Half Mars, half natural grain
Unsure if it should be itself
Or just take on completely
Maiden's smeared lipstick hue

Gasoline mayhem beyond these walls...
Trucks so tall
That McDonald
s Marquees
Seem knee-high;
Texture basketball
Goosebumps on empath's skin
When the undead caress them

In the mirror, not a whole you
or me, or me or her...
A distortion of perception
Speed bumps spill coffee--
Slow down and it cools too fast

A bullet lodged in flesh
Being pulled out by surgeon,
Someone said "living
is exhausting..."
The dead
Might have it worse
(their backs must be aching);
Some of us are buried alive
But still upright, smiling
Bigger than the black holes
We were jettisoned from

A roadside cross is half-bent
But no one cares to fix it straight again.
A strong downpour
Takes care of everything,
Sizzling on the bald-head
Of the many miles to reach
Setting sun.

No cigarette needed,
Just a pen & paper
And the
ambiance of nude woman

At my side
Tracing silhouettes of one another
With whispers.…

JOYRIDE on a Sunny Sunday

Roadside tortoise on its back,
Stubby legs trying to run on clouds.
Many cold stones, engraved, dotting the landscape;
Grandmas and grandpas are mummy's
Beneath them.

Now a neighborhood of mid-century homes
Filled with those leaning toward "affluent."
My crush, a long-haired brunette... perfect
In her cream-toned symmetry, is among them 
(I've been to her place before)
But destiny keeps the pole well-greased
Stopping hands & lips just shy of a first kiss
On my climb toward her.

My nostrils robust 
With fresh-cut lawn scent...
The horse manure potpourri
Now tapering off a bit.

A desert eagle glides 
About 3 stor
ies high,
Scouting for field mice
Tracing ghost figure-eights
On its endless expanse journey.

There's a nearby highway
With endless pecan trees;
It cuts a swathe through this 
Desert scene 
as if some frozen in time,
Rifle at side, army.

On a billboard, roadside,
A blond woman with half-exposed large breasts...
Wait.... what was she selling again???
I forget.

A two-tone old Ford of the baby blue & white
Kind, short bed truck parked at fruit stand;
A Viagra-popping
gray-haired man (well, he's got that 
look about him anyway) pays
for a basket full of red-tinted aphrodisiac.

I wonder why, lately, I've
Been looking at used cars on
I think I want a van... yes...
I believe I want an old skool van.

Gone Home with One Shoe

I found love
Stuck in the gum
On the sole of my sneaker.
I pulled pocket knife
From my pants 
& scraped at love
With the razor-edge blade.
When did love become
Part of the sidewalk,
A thing discarded 
& trampled upon by 
The masses?

It was stuck 
Permanently, love,
On worn sole.
I put my knife away
& threw away the shoe.

I Sent You Kisses, You Sent Me Back-masked Potpourri
(a hypothetical illusory moment of the melodramatic kind)

Your Auburn curls were a small army
Of dwarfs swan-diving off your bare shoulders
Cascading over the vertebrae of your cream, lilac-tinged, back.
There you stood, nude before me, your supple derriere
Enticing any onlookers to traverse the hills & valleys
That is the human landscape.

I whispered (not so softly) to your tail bone
"Back that trunk full of junk closer to me..."
Audibly sending you a hailstrom of kisses.
You did not verbally respond, instead,
You settled for tear-gassing the vicinity...
Unleashing a bombardment of back-masked
Potpourri from your ill-kempt innards,
Suffusing my very sun-kissed skin...
Eclipsing my soul, 
Stapling together my lips & nostrils.

Feathers in Pillows

The rings of Saturn 
Around my neck

Asteroid shower
Polluting my brain

Incense for the insane
Rosemary bushes in light rain;

Apple trees'
Apple sauce dripping from branches,
Thanks to the golfer-in-chief
No one picked them

A parade of women 
In yoga pants
En route to Disneyland

Clouds cry bullets,
Shoot raindrops 
With lightning bolt hands

The riches from many wars
Are the feathers in pillows
Of sleeping oligarchs

A tongue-blade kiss
A sewer pipe serenade
Ring at pool-bottom
Her finger is virgin again


One eye

A blind eye,

Boxed within mirrors

Trying to see

What sees

EYE for-eign EYE first published online in electronic format in September 2018; all content/poems & cover photo/design copyright © RJ Williams & Sorrow Seed Press 2018.

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