Ficly

myopia

everyone’s an inkblot,
walking rorschach tests
waiting to be examined

every letter and number
every license plate and street sign
stutter, shudder: they’re shy, scared

everything is a rush,
a straight dash to the end
to the bottom of the eye examination chart-
and we’re all being tested

I’d squint,
if only to make parallel lines
seem to flow together

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