Visionless

Since I debarked our
everyday 2CV car, 
I've been looking out for 
the Higgs' Bosun, 
who looked out at his good ship,
the Higgs, upon the ocean,

under our
everyday G2V star,
God's lost golfball,
overhit into the deistic rough.
It's not even the Elysian
froghair for us.

When the Sun gets his 
hat on, I'll visually feast,
daggers at the daylight
till it polka-phots my
ret'nas, this dazzle-speckle
a dasher of spectacle (or is it?)

M'eyes weren't unblinkered wide,
rhomboid & thromboid,
weren't jacked unblinkable
by the living daylights'
sick toothpicks - 's all pink
crepuscular maya to me.

M'eyes weren't taken in,
m'eyelids were taking in
the laser craquelure
of the Purkinje tree.
O glare throws shapes, strands,
pelts entoptics

& spots, scarlet shadowplay,
shining squiggles
& antsize stars squinsolate
that enlighten from behind
a sungazer's 
blepheral blinds,

not the crape drapes of the blind,
but just us blinking dilettantes. 
Albiluminous ickle asterisks,
atomsymbols, electromagnetic
snowflakes: such whiteout
wingdings dazzle pixels yield.

Can't you see I look distracted,
rapt for naught but
Empyrean fireflies,
frazzle freckles of incandescent gnats,
photonegative muscae volitantes,
white as the watts of soppystern wrath

which zapped Mrs.Lot
into vinegar's mistress
in a flash. Flaws, l/ sins,
are in the foveolae of the beholder,
but exploding lightbulbs, Eurekas leaking
past my binary un-novas are a flash-

back to the fast one some 
molten marble mirage pulled on 
ye olde sunstroked prophets, 
who passed on that fast one in the form
of their Zarathustra grift,
sunstroke sublimated into

the real oldest profession in the world.
Did acolouthic zentangles
hornswaggle the atavision
of Bronze Age goatherders' gurus
such that they swore they saw
spangley theophany in aftersun images?

Anthropomorphic stemcells 
of imagination don't have much
imagination. In staredown sunbeams,
there are no personal endorsements
from Pure Energy, no thumbsup 
from Unus Mundus, no Celestial-sent 

dodgy dossier of Divine Destiny 
to single out some overheated nebbish.
Just the same old sungod l/ Shamash, 
bogus as a drogulus 
or maybe Mandoo at Memphis,
usurping Nature's spotlight

for lowkey nuking the lights back on
in a perfectly natural, workaday way.
Oi, pareidolic, anthropolatric
Stemcells of Imagination! No
watchmaker helioghost
cyanotyped in Sumer  

within a hot niveous wince 
winkwinks. Some blazing hieroglyphics
l/ bleached shred tinsel
& tracery within the redblack
cul-de-saccade dark of the self,
the cosmically-blind ALFMED

of us mere halfdeads, but it's not 
Revelation. Two curtains 
do indeed a prison make.
Reality really 
is a video
nyctinasty.