Bada and institute July 2012 018

From here, this vantage point,

My restless, dissolute gaze drifts upwards.

In combative protest. Forging an escape.

Tears that imprison my sight

I don’t wipe you to free that restless spirit

I claw at my eyes to wipe the images clean.

Sight. The decadent sense.

He fashioned lids,

To shut it down.