Time is not more
than the light
that eludes perception,
no less than
understanding this.

Lethargic skies,
a cat with cataract eyes.
Catharsis is not an option
as lesser men march
towards book pyres, in opposition
to free knowledge.

Wondering crowds
below the streets of London,
rowdy mongrels with tequila eyes
and a tail that wags to Paris,
New York or Rome in April.
The minaret chant in Istanbul
is a recording.

The ripe corn is ripped and soiled
before indigestion and wandering
with scarecrows and drunkards.
The day is a relic of sharpened stones
and stories of their use.

Reverse the binary receptors
and you will see God.
Reverse the rest of it
and you might see.