The unsupervised rule spooling out like a foolish eyelash, crossing my eyes
as I bend my lids to blink when I meant to stare, to take in every curve of artifice
every Baroque glass candle and carved staircase
now I am out on the curb, its raw cement making its own curve
much more simple
and Proletariat.
I guess I like that.
It is so hard to stare at the grandiose
When I am truly in awe of something
it's almost like my eyes are closed.
