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God Buried His Eye Inside Me

God buried His eye inside me
my hand is no better than Jeroboam’s dusty one
writing what I was not intended to
when I learned it is only the penitent people
that have stayed nailed to their crosses
bearing the eruption of their organs
I can’t repent without ripping
parts of myself off
purposely I have stayed inside my cave
to paste the falling flesh back on
it hasn’t been poetry that has made me
but fitting the wrecked pieces together
as a thousand shattered pieces of a lost puzzle,
and no one finds all the pieces in a day
like hermits and monks are secluded to re-construct
their bodies to behave
I too am now a eunuch for the Kingdom,

When God buried His eye inside me
I spent days in a stupor trying to figure out
if this is all there is
I wish I could get off this deserted island
and I send messages in bottles quite often
but they never get found,
in trying to claw my way through the plaster of this room
its an insult living in exile,
all those exiled strangers on street corners
carrying those signs will work for food
while I stuff my life suit to capacity
and then inspect the flabby pieces of me
the images are what got smashed
when we stopped being perfect, and
sometime our own security got us flabby and sloppy
for months and months we were left with Berlin
after the Second World War
digging up the pieces we should have dug up while they
were still alive,
and Dresden and Hiroshima and every
other massive contusion of humanity all flipped together
in this giant blender,
after war nobody is without sin
it takes the stigma off of us
whenever a nation collapses it becomes a black hole
to be neglected and feared,
to be explored,
and we make others a sort of universe
to search and make creatures out of

When God buried his eye inside me
I didn’t think I would still be living at home
with a child inside a room we don’t fit in anymore
we’re like giants inside a pygmy’s house,
everything about the room is petite,
and only one of us actually fits
it goes back to not being able to slide a credit card
to get what you want or need out of living,
and yes,
I am the one standing next to you in the grocery line
with the obsolete booklet of food stamps
pinching a piece of French bread to eat,

God buried His eye inside me
my eyes are twin moons,
old like craters and tired mirroring the twin towers
on the cover of some magazine,
and some woman in the skyscraper must have waved
her last good-bye
unable to resolve any of her problems
in that single moment,
she should have eaten all the things she never ate
while she was counting calories,
her size 2 body was never seen again
she must have worked hard to squeeze into
a teenager’s pair of jeans,
but didn’t enjoy the fruit of her labor
my own body no longer fits inside the mirror
I carried around to condemn myself in,
and how did I end up with the body I now have
we live inside our shallow universes
placing our bodies in line ups,
and criminals don’t have it as tough

God buried His eye inside me
together we witnessed Sept 11
when Wall Street popped the images we had of ourselves
we lived inside of plastic too long
until others started brutally ripping the gift wrappings off
and pretty soon mirrors start to show true reflections
of ourselves swollen with our flaws,
the yellow hearts of mediocrity bleed against us
we bleed to find our morality
we hide behind other people’s blood
to avoid shedding our own

God buried His eye inside me
to open my own eyes
to “Them” and “They”
not to obey the rulers of this age,
those silver haired Methuselahs
who pretend to be gods
holding life and death
with a civility that is cruel
oppressing the sparrows who will inherit the earth.


God Buried His Eye Inside Me

Matty B. Duran

Fresno, United States

  • Artist
  • Artwork Comments 4

Artist's Description

This is a piece of a much larger work I wrote years ago. I revised it to read shorter in length. It was written at a time when Sept 11 had happened.

Artwork Comments

  • Reynaldo
  • Matty B. Duran
  • Solomon Walker
  • Matty B. Duran
Matty B. Duran

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