You’d Think You’d Find It

Why is it so hard to read a mind?

You’d think you’d find it in expression –
the tremor of obsession in a wary blink;

the glaze of an immobile stare –

the glare of a determined impassivity –
repression of some hot internal blare

of terror, rage or sexual fixation;

the heavy-lidded daze and slow predation
of ennui. So much should be obvious

in you and  me – strangenesses we fear,

plenitudes for which we long. Strange
we almost always get it wrong.









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