The Voice w/out Eyes in Raymond's Head Considers Raymond

& Raymond in bed with his cold today
Observes each cone each rod featureless among wastelanders

All lucid ships falling thru sky lights
He rises & stumbles
Chaste along spanning months of hospital floors

Writing fizzles his poems seduce / recall a spasm

The daze never stiltify
Or lag if he wonders

If he sexes himself
Oj & grits
His shit is a stranger stranger to himself
A crosswalk / a bio down among
Knowing tales

The news is not a dove today
Imagined space pokes back a finger
With the sweet meats offered in outrage

Bad angels picnic the craven walls of his cave his room
He panics the outline of a dream out:

Peache pits in little hard tempos

Rodent appears Raymond appears rodent on cycles
Each episode a new millennia

The sun is not a lord today
Imagined creatures crest among dust bunnies
Sing din of the real

Hapless ray of streaking madness stands at a sink
Reading stop signs don't suicide

His farts
Too seem odd
His heaven too narrow holds claim
On the comic
The real

In good clothes his street clothes
His body’s a thought purged onto walls

If his poem is shabby his bed burns