he thought they were stars
hewed around his stooped
shoulders and mane
they erupted in
shunted flares like abrupt butterfly
wings or slender almonds
our eyes
play tricks on us if we let them if we dont call them out
and he always afforded his a
dramatic berth
as long as theyre seeing
unaided unalloyed
unentertained
he saw curious things that
never happened or would exist
and for them a gentle perverse
smile twisted onto his face
their reckoning was held privately inside his head
a solemn campfire counsel a
peacepipe smoked between them
his eyes always felt they
existed in toto before his brain and by that surly lance stabbed
in the surfwetted beachhead of
sentient existence it always ran separate of the rest of
him
it placed its ample bets with
the freshly made neocortex mesmerized
by the fantasy of
its vastly corrugated face
they becoming faceted like
insect compoundeyes
and through the paleocortex as
mediator they argued against the archicortex
but it smelled
his eyes claimed even before
they were presented
the archicortex bore the mock of
memory and recalled this reoccurring ride time and time
again
and braced
his eyes shrugged
conceded
and departed counsel
they went back to what they did
best
fabricating
they werent stars
they were an array of tinshaded
soft lamps backlighting a guitarist
through his eyes a romantic bloodhued mist
lovely
if lovely isnt true
does it really matter
2018, Thursday,
14 8. 13
