Sometimes one must close an eye in order to see clearly, or shield against the sun for the sake of perceptual clarity. Seeing through. Hearing around. Tasting and smelling in between… moving beyond the confines of sensate machination into subtle dimensionality of intrinsic substance… the true filling in the cosmic sandwich. Painful, intense, unsteady, flickering on and off rapidly and erratically in a disjointed creative flow. Your voices swim in seas of punctuated checker boards and algae-like drifts of prism smoke. Buzz. Buzz. Buzzing without rhythm. God cannot see me here, under this canopy. I am small and easily concealed from the eyes of judges. Walking clumsily on unsteady knees, seeking comfort close to the flame and finding calm repose in the intense heat of ancestral igneous spirit. Burn away flesh and bone, leave only the trembling in the walls of my stomach and long bones of my shrinking thighs. Shake me. Peel me like weeping onions. Heal me. Heal me. Heal me.