I subtracted truth to found eyes, blurred, or blurry, a feigned protest. A sum. Skin covered in fever, she says she’ll wear that or ink, if you’re really blue. That’s what mourners do. When it breaks, you’ll see how perfect it looks in the light. Abstraction unfolds. The iris transparent. Dreams well up and eye risk. A way of thinking in our hemispheric planes. Holding trust inside, you can lumber around the eight ball. Fashion me a sight, not past or present. Proclaim nothin