To dependence on sight, so that
when we view objects in a predicable context,
Such as shadow, an object will
appear to us as if it is in shadow,
Even when bearing the same hue as
another object,
Simply by the implication of its
surroundings
This brought me to an
extrapolation of interrelationships
Dancing around the criterion of
what it means to be a man
My lack of a pick-up truck, need
to haul shit, or
Height to thump my skull upon any
branch of stature
I am in the veil of shadow
appearing as boy, no epic beard or callus palm
To grip the swindle in the
cognitive magic acts of assumed conclusions
Stitched with the eyes; the kind
as if we see two parallel lines extending vertically
And put two objects of equal length
perpendicular
The lower of the two objects
vertically will also appear shorter horizontally
Given the slightest tilt in
vision, despite being nothing of the sort
I find this contextual diagram of
life profusely problematic
Given my nature;
I am an internal being, one of
muted external senses
Those of movement, of speech of social
prisms are perfunctorily blunted
Dulled as the network of my
existential contemplations persist on a hyperopic level
Like a gorging universe of
magnetism occupying my sensorial locus
I can see a person’s childhood,
his dynamics, her motivations
His superego sprinting around the
vulnerability to fend away intrusive
Topics sensitive to historical
understandings; I can see a person 10,000 meters deep
Like Marianas eye-sight of an
albino blind crustacean, but
I cannot see what should be right
in front of me as one learns at lunch time in sixth grade
I always wondered why from elementary
school I realized my sense of rhythm
Was lacking, my metronome akimbo,
when seated I often like to place
My right ankle over my left as if
making a merman’s tail,
(For whoever writes stories of
mermen) and yet,
This physical position holds my
focus better in thought
I one day realized by eliminating
my external senses, in this case walking
Or to a degree motion itself, my
inner-eye, my inner-mouth was granted
A greater magnitude of freedom
This is as I imagine how when a
person goes blind
His brain remaps the neurons previously
dedicated to sight to hearing
So that stimuli can be interpreted
with greater acumen,
Which after jettisoning gross
notions of social awkwardness and inadequacies
Is what I have learned to do as a writer,
I dive into myself to find the
ocean of interaction that this introversion
Was designed to produce;
For the degree of this behavior
which ordains me to be an anomaly, I am uncertain
For whoever dives into the mind
of another?
But I can attest that I am
diving; I am spelunking in this cavernous hall
This poetry, this writing is
growling at me like foul monsters of the deep
And graceful angels of the loft
to be released to flitter and debate
With the vastness that my limbs
are left in elementary sensorial development
To dance spastically, my nose of pheromone
inhalation (our most basic primal sense)
Is often befuddled as to how the
exterior of a being could possible
Communicate the vastness of the
interior of a being
So from very young, I have
recognized my dilemma, yet
Have found solutions to be
feckless hunts for mermaids and dryads
The rouge on lips to mimic a
vulva, the aperture of a pupil
The symmetry of face surely
indicate genetic disposition
However none of this seems to
expel an iota of the magnanimous orchard
That I seem to spend so much of
my time, mimicked in another
So as it is, I am a vagabond
whispering at tree branches aloft
As breezes push autumn into
winter into spring into nothingness
As seasons are stepping stones of
taste buds sensing a differential in temperature
Oscillating by the hour or
barometric pressure point, I am dulled
I am incapable of tracking such
mercurial wisps,
As time inside this hold of
internal analytics is striated by a different currency
The very strings that forge the
fabric of my being appear of a divergent biology
As often as they appear the same,
maybe as some might say with the shadow
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