Endowed with Enlightenment, Nonsense Still Remains Unseen

As though my eyes feign tricks to stimulate their own necessity
There is but one directed ray per eye
And the sun will fulfill its course as soon as
Its constitutive circumference becomes blind
To its center, believing itself a center, in and of itself,
Of fair trade, fixed rates, and the transmutation of common sense
Into line graphs of just exchange
I don’t need to know what it means to see the sun
And I don’t need to see myself reflected in it
I only need to learn from its promised presence
What it means to occasion and rise
Whether dynamically, statically, or otherwise
For there will always exist dark depths
Of immeasurable gravity
With no light of relation as a guide
There will always be senseless beginnings
So long as there is a mind upon which to lay claims

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Right Side Rings of Liberty, While My Left Concludes That It’s Sound

There’s a foul stench stuck in my pillow case
It won’t even come out in the wash
There’s a foul dream which recurs in my image-scape
It won’t even die on alarm
There’s a foul fear filling my soul with weight
It won’t even show itself clear
And at the risk of sounding ridiculous
I believe thought clouds have slipped out my ear