I have no power
an aberration of light across the domain of sensations.

Who am I, or if not it?

Nature has taken all: “you” is plural here: as opposed to “upon.”

A lapse of time between the external
and internal world tends
to make incongruities of reason—
even the most perfect organ
may err as myriads have.

One might say legitimacy is not
in order
extinct even.

Indeed, this is the sign I sent:
the image on the retina will be modified.

Nothing is a difficult foundation,
contradicts the syntax “this that I am.”

As for the optical machine
it sends me to you

a delight of rapid instances
each part
by each part.

*

Where the manufactory fell afoul with special parts or organs it was the cupbearer and baker actively at work. After these events the king’s secondary sexual process became infuriated. They were closely regulated in the dungeon house, imprisoned and fixed. In being useless, they came to differ. Then the two of them dreamt a dream, each his own in a single night. The chief baker, he specialized in a particular function—he could not overcome his tendency. The cupbearer arose saying “A vine was in front of me, an extraordinary size branched off from a common parent, higher and higher but I could not take it!” The guard came in the morning and saw they were dejected. Here, he said, your faces are average, not extraordinary, but I understand. They’re correlated by specific views. You will be standing higher in the second chapter, actively at work, each rudimentary scale adjusted to his dream, each man his own interpretation.