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Sonnet: The Eyes Have It
by John Kendall Hawkins
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With the many thieves of light all around
me, whorling black holes when I close my eyes:
not Van Gogh's starry starry fires, but spies,
panoptici beasts that stare, make no sound,
internalized pin prick spots: I am lost.
There is no return from this paradigm
shift, this valley of the shadows, this time
out of time, like a machine-driven ghost.
Easter's promise: transubstantiation.
Phoenix, Icarus, Prometheus: fires.
From tyros to pyros, matchstick desires
lighting the way: transhumanization.
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