Broken Blinds

Today, he was calmer, the blind lift operator
today, exactly today.
He spread his arms wide to tear people's bodies,
spread himself in calm gestures of a powerful man
blinded by smugness.

White, the secret eyes the blind
could have painted over the white backdrop.
He tore bodies: arms today,
maybe everyday--
The willing hands that covered his feature
were dispassionate disguises.

People, all day long, in and out of the lift.
When they entered, the blind lift operator
heard and got his hands to them.
He tore them spreading his arms.
In the background, a white wall poured
out of his eyes.

The lift breaks down and jerks,
the lights go out in the cabin.
I lower my eyes and fall to the ground.
Everything's steel in this world
except to the blind man getting his hands on it.
All is white, before the suitable disguise,
but a blind man's eyes can hold back
his secrets.

Empty faces wait
for a clock to impose on them.
Burdened men wait for anguish's push
and indecision bits at my heels.

I breathe,

steady my grip on the steel of my cage
and stand up, my flesh burning

The hank of screams' thread hides in my throat,
in my legs I shake off revulsion.
I rise to the blind man's face

and he knows it.

He reaches out into the open.
I stand before him, challenging.


In the dark, I beat the blind lift operator
with tremendous punches in his pride,
until out of his eyes poured a fresh colour.
"Look", I said. "There's a new sun outside!"