The Eye, Like a Strange Balloon, Moves Toward Infinity

- 1882; after Odilon Redon

Lord, I am an animal among other
animals—We hunt and have
been hunted. We move at dusk
among the wreckage of towns,
traversing the slashed throats
of rivers. Every vine
that swooned over a fence
has burned to smoke or ash.
All the prophets have given
notice. Each morning
the sky hauls the body
of the sun out of hiding.
It rises above the trees,
a severed head put through
its paces. Lord, I can't see
through the clouds forming
an army of funnels. Every road
leads away and nothing returns.
Not even my one good eye
can find that exit sign, neon
glowing around a border of bone.

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