Focus

If I was to take a word, say focus, Stand it on its head, And ask with growing sense of dread, Why my friend did you just now, Fly upon this particular Moment’s verbal locus? Torture I might answer, like waterboarding, Might explain a thing or two. Indeed the stakes are dear, And the coast far from clear- For foggy shores clarity prevents, The utter contingency of cluttered events. Focus is the mine shaft of the mind, Magnifying that which falls Into categories of significance: Signs of a trance, a mental dance, By which thinking signifies The magnificent follies Of a man upside down In a world of lies. No subtlety there, Poet banging hair chest bare, The mental frequency hertz, Screeching, scratching, snatching, Lose bits of hurt out of the air. The mathematics of falling Made clear by Newton, His numbers uncovering What was Always there: A god already in free fall, The Fall, the autumn of our birth, The forsaken garden, Two dummies hand in hand, An undulating snake, A world of entanglement, All fleeing into a desert dream. For what? To where? And why? The three double jews of the trinity Which Law forbade no One to ask, Yet no body did Put focus to task. She reappears all the time. The rabbit hole stood for what was to come, The worms therein what was done. The trip down was fun, Getting out gave more than the sum. The prism diffracted the invisible Beams of light, An assortment of possibilities followed, The world explained, the mind contained, A boundless infinite void of space, Surrounding us, Disgracing us, For we had to face, The borders of our place. Trapped inside We looked the other way, Attic floors, token doors, A distilled virtue, forgeries for another day. The sky was not the limit, we were. The atoms of the mind mere reflections Of our best guessing games. There though, lay our best hope. After the bloodshed She reappeared again. But only after. Choices like Templars into the night, Distracted the courtesies of a harmonious cosmos, God had blood and died, Men embraced humiliation and cried, Change, the abomination of free will, Altered the fabric of time. Focus put by for a rainy day. Distraction, the play thing Of an unruly monster lurking in the shadows of thought, Vomiting a pile of disassociations.