A Still Thoughtless Life Of The Eyeglasses

a pair of eyeglasses with brown frame
lays itself bare
on a white cloth
actually a wiper of mist
or tears perhaps
or dirt like oil or stains
a black casing
stares at it like a niche
as though someone that
appears later
shall be buried on the
red mantel.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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