I flip through the glossy pages of the
magazines of my
mind
now without any of the photographs
which have long since been
cut out
pasted on whose vision boards
I do not know
as words are all that remain
in the warm blackness
of my receding brainline-
from which it can be deduced
by observing the negative space
what memories are no more
as the recollections
are not even but a flicker-
more like the barren gums of extracted
wisdom teeth
which were no more than
misnomers
from day 1.
I read to pull out meaning
from every sentence
expecting
a change in my ever-rambling
mental revolutions,
words replacing words and again
devoured by the misty white blackness,
that fog of unconsciousness
soon to be exuded back onto
paper
in a drawing or two
of images long since extinguished
in my most private
movie screen
by Odysseus's puncturing of my third eye
leaving me not quite a cyclops
as I remain with eye one and eye two,
correctable vision,
and astigmatism
(which wikipedia tells me is subjectively
noticeable by the expressions of
refraction).
I imagine or rather, think,
of light bending around the
curvatures of spheres and spheres of
existence
my chasma keeping a plastic record
of every sight I've seen,
every visibly blind man begging down
the corridors of a train,
every shivering man lying at death's
doorstep
in a metropolitan gutter,
every 17 year-old Ethiopian girl sombrely
describing her work,
every viral news clip not blurred out
enough, as it hits me that another person
has died,
every glimpse at the sun,
in between flashings of the sky,
the hubris rising as if one could defeat
the sun itself
or reflect its light, scattering
its radiation in patterns
mirroring
the controlled, gusty
winds being channeled
in spiralling paths,
in and out,
up and down,
and thru every cell of the body-
as if one could outweigh gravity,
outremember the Past
outknow the Future
outlast Time
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