I believe in sights seen by sightless eyes,
and I believe in flowers that
never bloom unless they are thought
to do so; I don’t believe in
the night but I do believe in the stars, and
I believe that the sky is only
there when I’m not looking.
 
         I believe unjustifiable things as
         a matter of life in an
         unjustifiable world
and I don’t believe in the universe
but if I don’t believe in it, then I
can’t believe that it’s expanding, and
I don’t know if believing that myth
might save me after all.
 
It’s too late for the dewdrops of my
sight to kiss life into memory
and let it grow as it may. All I want
is to drift through
a world of picked-and-chosen things,
constructed as a matter of
delusion
and survival.