Listen!
I will marry my blear eye to a blind eye standing with the reverends of the dark and hooting with them in the canopy of trees lit by the electricity of my nerves the black shadows of all my thoughts carried to their extreme conclusions I will send my eyes off on a journey with farewells unceasing and fading waves of the hand they will see and they will not see what I tell them and cover their shame with lace and bathe in goldenseal and eyebright bayberry bark and raspberry and in the hotel of my skull occupy the finest floor the waiters will run to them with outstretched hands to give and receive and press against muscles of a back tired of loving tired of play tired of the upright posture of the merely sighted