It’s desperately unfair that life
spreads mystery over our eyes,
like a thick layer of glue
from the Elmer’s bottle of the unknown
so we are pretty much blind
all of the time,
and also sticky.
Like how you never know, for completely sure,
if another person loves you,
without a brain scan
and even then, you can’t really trust the doctor
without scanning her brain too
and having the same problem, all over again.
Or how you can’t be sure
who the person was
who murdered you with that pickax
that you keep next to the lawnmower
until you’re dead.