Channeling: Marked Fragile
My third eye is
a malfunctioning implant,
like a silicone breast,
that bursts every time
I blink.
This
vision, it’s poison.
I’ve tried to plug the socket,
or at least strap on
a black pirate’s patch
like a belt
to keep truth fastened
around my skull.
The world fits neatly
into a box we plug
in to remove its tints
from the observation
window.
Now I have blinds over
the television to remind me
I’ve been inside too long,
staring out over this
terrible view.
