You or I?
Or to enthrall
the third eye of
detection?
To realize the
surroundings of the
border of self.
Where a gentle
mist falls on deaf
skin and green and
purple trees confuse
hearing eyes. For they
sound the same when
swayed by the wind.
Where birds bark and
cats tweet, to the third
eye, it's not
revolutionary,
it's reality in side out.
A child skips by speaking
the language dead, Latin.
The child's innocence,
the nudeness of pallet
of his brain, impressionable
perhaps. Definable, indefinite.
All the while, the tide rushes into
nothingness, so it effects nothing.
The third eye blinks,
blackness, then what?
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