Touts may tempt you,
To don rose-colored glasses,
Shouting:
“We can help you draw,
The finest lines,
With no more glare.
Blot out all aberrations,
Lock them out,
So that the spectrum is laid bare.”
Beware of blinders,
There is no one-size-fits-all approach,
To perception.
Light ricochets,
Unpredictably,
But without the full range,
You cannot expect,
Clear sight.
Let there be light,
turn the knob twice.
Curled, coiled,
incandescent filament
glowing white-hot,
between two prongs,
helping us bear witness.
Until it pops,
and everything stops-
a blue spark,
flashes twice as bright,
when it’s burned for too long.
It all comes crumbling down,
both pins drop
all the dancing cherubs
they once held on their heads.
You’re distracted,
by the floating, bluish,
inkblots that slide,
away from your line of sight.
You ask yourself
“how many idiots does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”
In lieu of taking a shot
in the dark, you quietly exit
to find a replacement.
Selfish is the radiance-hoarder,
Unbounded bouncing element resonates,
Through the sphere of the sunshine recorder,
Upon its crux the particle detonates.
Lucid luminescence has primal appeal,
In a world of constant flux,
Like an old zoetrope, spinning like a pinwheel,
Unfettered, unfocused, a coliseum of lux.
A balance must be struck between the two reciprocals,
A cavalcade of color that leaves an impression,
A spectral speckle spectacle; a rainbow flicker-festival,
A kaleidoscope held up to your eye for another session.
The File Pile 