The man with one sly eye
is slightly broken,
but not enough that he cannot lie.
He takes my hand in that place where big money is manufactured –
out of ‘relationships’ –
And we lope into the portal of his perceptions.
There we find truth. The real truth. The whole truth. Nothing but the truth.
He is so convincing he believes this himself.
He almost has me –
But the pupil caught in that ocular socket brings me back.
All around it the flesh is sliding down,
But it remains fixed, dark, sure, unwavering.
As Spinoza would say nothing that is useful to us could ever live there.