Sonnet: The Eyes Have It
by John Kendall Hawkins
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.
(Note: You can view every article as one long page if you sign up as an Advocate Member, or higher).