Fashioning the Body: Versions of the Citizen, the Self, and the Subject

(note: I don't think I understood the prompt. But here it is.)

I have a glass eye (I had a glass eye). I fell in love with it after it became a part of my body, an unblinking unseeing part but a part nonetheless. It's smooth gloss was cleaner than that other soiled organic eye ever could have been. It sits in my face with benign perfection and allows no emotion to move it; no tears will render it dysfunctional, no red-eye, astigmatism, bleary morning-after syndrome, cracks, cuts, bruises, soreness, stinging, irritation, sleepymen, uncouth unclean bio-processes won't invade it's calm Gandhi meditation in my skull. My other eye may feel too strongly; this one is eternal and beautiful, and most of all always on guard, always alert, never resting, never sleeping, I can watch when I'm unconscious - I can deceive and mystify: not only that, but this eye is GREEN, a magnificent cut-grass green that would never otherwise appear in my brown-shaded self.