by Tom Saer

Part one: ears

With shower water making radiators on my skin, a slightly tired feeling coming in 

To walk instead of take the bus 

On time, I had explained to me electrodes and consent, for TMS that is.

To see your face and brush the hair 

away from it — I mean 

My body took me over. 

Dropping out of helping indirectly felt unfortunate; the situation turned 

With inverse blinking road return in Swans 

And then my sanity determined not to be an influence today:

My Plato’s cave, the walls my hands and movement in the corners of my hair: a session, half an hour, having folded over eyes and orchestrated closing of the blinds

A self-affirming one, because my hands created vision partiality,

This time I shut down with a choice,

My hands 

An all-time high in consciousness 

But no one’s ever right I say 

With every star a guide to poor men’s mouths 

A single one remained,

I had another vision 

Part two: eyes

To think about the tired 

kindness in your voice — I mean 

A picture of the sons of Conon

First in sequence every time, my 

Wednesday evening 

commentary going lonely well 

Abandoned food 

and left-behind-on-desk-chair drama.

On my way to handing in at one a.m.

With empty upwards downwards arrows 

No one here to tell me what they mean

To think about the creases of your friendly eyes — I mean 

I realised I was walking up the stairs 

Just how I saw my Peter, with a pained expression, walking very slowly in a 

Dream I had 

To see you in the day and feel the evening breathing worry into me, since that’s the general theme — I mean

There’s too much light that I can’t share with you, I wish I knew you better —

Actually, I mean 

Let’s buy some things at closing time together, have a walk to where we see the lights in water, sit outside so I can listen to 

phenomena of you