[Eliza Hodgkins 1812]

and inspired by my filthy glasses, the lenses of which never seem to stay clean...

Tortoise Shell Negotiators

Without the glass, it is a meaningless interstice
Between my face and what’s in front;
The lenses through which I view this country askew
Are necessaries that right the angles and sharpen crystallized light
Into objects I can identify with the weaker of my senses

Essential to me is this unblurring that
Happily erases the halo from this world;
Me, I like my sinning in sharp focus
Me, I like the hedonistic throng of Man
That flails against that which would puppet master our inhibitions

I want to inebriate the populace with language,
The vibrancy of a human thought in voice or ink:
Word with a lowercase ‘w’, and not in anyone’s name but Ours

I want to drink the nectar of happenstance,
I want to get so sick on luck and coincidence,
Vomit up the definitions I have for “fate", “destiny”,
And the rascally “expectation”

So I’m thankful for these glasses that let me see the world
In its way and mine, though it’s a wrestling act each time
I blink the crying back

And possibly it’s true that I’ve been given rare visions
Of things as I would have them be and not as they are,
But I wonder if these moderators,
Between my face and what’s in front,
Make me a hostage to my inner dreams and thoughts

Also in the wondering,
Do other people’s glasses gather up the world refuse as mine do?
It’s as if all the grime and speck of life need a place to rest
And have taken a shine to me -
Sweat that’s condensed and grease from the forelock,
Ash, muck, fingerprint and glue

The filthy detritus of bodies keeping my loneliness company,
Fvcking up my pretty views