More Lucid than the Real or the Surreal
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
You close your eyes and then you see. You view
The truth more clearly. Seemingly your lids
Have Gnostic painted pupils on them to
Produce prophetic breakthroughs. Sight forbids
(Mere normal sight) the deepest gospels of
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The heart and guts. The beautiful itself
Is far beyond the corneas, above
Them, rests forever on a see-through shelf,
A ledge like see-through gold of heaven’s streets.
High love and reason must converge. Both heal.
They merge, the same. Our senses are deceits
That we are meant to follow with the zeal
Of saints who cast them all aside, aghast,
And find eternal absolutes at last.