My eyes define the limits of my vision,

shapes shift and change

light reflecting and refracting

too much and my focus is too narrow,

myopic, artificial

I am stunted by the sight of trees

lain barren, clearcut in my soul, stumps the only remainder of my past

rings, concentric, tell the story of moments, moments buried in the grander tale.

Too little and I thrill to the grandeur of forests

vast and unyielding, blurry, an end without detail,

becoming at best impressionistic, the expression of pinpoints,

stereograms that resolve into nothing

like resolutions made without being truly resolute. 

I wear my glasses and manipulate light beams,

directing light as both waves and particles bear down upon me

Cut like glass, I’m made whole where I am deficit.

I find the mark upon the page and I identify it,

I am the great cartographer,

keeper of maps as ancient as the genes which have passed through my blood

and which I have in turn passed,

I write my name now in four letters ATGC across the face of time

and in my lustful yearning I have found the permanence I seek even as I am reminded of my dear and desperate mortality keeping records of a taxonomy of remembrances. 


Here, the kingdom of man coded in a double helix,

Shape and structure the limits our understanding, substance shrouded in mystery

we are moved now to the phylum, defined in us by our nerves,

too anxious to understand ourselves, we transmit grand signals, mediums for truth with no knowledge of it, stuck in systems of class, defined, confined, refined by gender, money, race, history, education, occupation, preoccupation, fetishes, and religion, we demand order to our chaos, seekers of meaning in snowflakes.  I throw a pumpkin in a lake every year to absolve myself not of sin, but of the sin of doubt, concentrating on purpose instead of family, blood proving out over water each time until tested, then proven out again.  We obey the programming of our biology because it has gotten us by these several million years and to defy it now is to defile ourselves and that we cannot do alone, so onward to our genus which defines a man as having a spine, backbone lost in the shuffling race of rats, our essential self plagued and flea bitten, we fall, and in falling we are rediscovered, reborn from crushed and forgotten ash, the rise of a dying species, the wise man knows when to finally, call it quits.

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