All perspective is is a dot
you can plan on any page
and then draw solid cubes so a house
can hover above crayon spikes of grass.
I am afraid. I have seen sheep puff
like dandelions,
some spotting blue as though thumbs
pushed ink on their backs.
Farmers spray dye on the rams
so after rutting with ewes,
the used ones are marked.
The more a thing is investigated,
the more it burns. Light on paper.
A museum displays these photographs:
Paganini’s ghost wearing a devil mask
pushing down on his violin,
and others, a serious girl,
hair parting her skull in half.
People show others how no one is
still there—turning a cold doorknob.
And how the more a thing is probed,
the more it burns. O it burns.
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