(See What you Want; Want What you See)
Jerrod Schwarz

There is a basilisk in my left eye, rapping the
sclera like cat claws on a window pane.
Sometimes, I can see its shingled
bends when I turn on my bathroom light in
the morning, when it zigzags from my cones
to my rods.

When my second love (who smiled) left for
Houston and said that our arms were too
short, it hissed Greek proverbs, scrawled them
red in the snowy edges:

Δείτε τι θέλετε; Θέλετε να βλέπετε

It sleeps when I sleep, and I dream
its dreams, reveling in its visions
of Cyrene rebuilt, writhing against
ancient, swollen women buying silphium.

My father (who always smiled) often spoke of a
demon who coiled around his left ear canal, who sculpted
marble columns in his Eustachian tube and
pierced Greek symbols into his stirrup with
tipped fangs:

Δείτε τι θέλετε; Θέλετε να βλέπετε

Only once I asked it for a name, for
nomenclature. And when it sibilated
I am instinct, I laughed because
she used to smile and he never frowned,
and because I had worried over the wrong eye.

JERROD SCHWARZ is a student at the University of South Florida. He currently lives in Tampa, and he has forthcoming work in Squalorly Literary Journal.