I’ve 

    Given up the shut-eye.

My philosophy rests,

 in the cave specula stretch, 

no longer greeted 

by iron-clad irises, but by

blackhole dilation, I 

Devoured 

a miraculous lunch of 

immaculate light.

   I asked to be fed 

Not just the wild, but the wilted, 

for I craved the 

   crunch of marrowless 

bone to complement my 

Gelatin life 

I watched my pupils

Twist themselves into a 

voracious vortex, Cracked 

through the bridge of my nose, 

A cyclonic curse of 

cycloptic sight

Yes, I picked up the pen

and watched it

Vault into my vision, 

gash the sleeping goop 

out of the single socket, the 

Squish of fountain tip 

slashing, black ink streaking 

down my cheeks, magma splatters 

on the page, this ocular inoculation,

only tenderness and ash.