Feb 26, 2001
The Song of the Contact Lens.
For a weeks's pay
You can purchase two half moons of plastic
In which to wrap your corneas;
To realise that the old poly
had grown into a paltry fog
and that the new energize your retinas
Enough to make them peer up avenues
Reminding you of the simultaneously emmigrated friend
Who maintained that all of New York
Was merely deja vu owing to the pap of childhood television
Excepting the teleology of streets and avenues
Summoning you up and accross.
Gas permeable green and blue,
Acute vision makes me resolve to write only poetry—
Who needs plot with perfect vision!
|
The Song of the Contact Lens.
For a weeks's pay
You can purchase two half moons of plastic
In which to wrap your corneas;
To realise that the old poly
had grown into a paltry fog
and that the new energize your retinas
Enough to make them peer up avenues
Reminding you of the simultaneously emmigrated friend
Who maintained that all of New York
Was merely deja vu owing to the pap of childhood television
Excepting the teleology of streets and avenues
Summoning you up and accross.
Gas permeable green and blue,
Acute vision makes me resolve to write only poetry—
Who needs plot with perfect vision!
- rachael 2-27-2001 4:00 am