A stare begins in the brain
The quiet longing
Of knowing
A little
More
A quick glance
At first
Is the foremost
Thought
An impulse
Draws it out
Stretches it
Strangely
Into a gaze
Singular
And articulate
In its intensity
Framed by expression
It spreads like fire
One becomes many
As necks turn
Like synchronized
Rotisseries
Bringing the flesh
Of myriad eyes
To bear
On some
Or other
Indiscretion
Never
Underestimate
The concordance
Of the crowd
An innocent glimpse
Becomes an indication
To the inner herd
That clusters in us all
That all should acquiesce
To the quiet call
Of the watchman
The one who knows
Has seen
What must be seen
And so the countless eyes
Begin to glare
With the ardent hunger
That becomes the stare
Just someone trying to make sense of the world.