Under the curving lens of my spectacles
my almond eyes slant in to curve
with the eyelashes, bent at the edge
of the lens as I peer out through
the corrective parabola of glass.
I perceive that I've been tricked
into seeing the image reproduced
correctly, and wonder just what
the difference is between being
tricked and seeing naturally.
Then I remember that seeing
itself is, naturally, being tricked
in the first place. And there
the interesting clue lies twinkling
in almost mischievous discreteness.
If you've been tricked into seeing
something correctly then it's because
it became necessary for you to react
accordingly to its presence. You were
the one that expected "it" to have form.
So to satisfy your own delusion
of what "it" really is, the world
provided you with an image to satisfy
your base expectation. The truth being
you never really know what anything
of all the different categories of nature
is really capable of. Its true form being
unrecognized leaves its real nature unrealized.
And here, the unfolding sporadic chance
of various emerging vortices of chaotic creation
where history unfolds or stacks up along
the imprinted spinal totem, brick by hieroglyphic
brick, leaves a mark that is melted in the sand
while it is etched, and even the wind looks on
never knowing why the artist keeps erasing his work.