Note the breadth

thud, thud, thud
the note pound my senses.
it reads, thinking felt.
the spaces between
reach towards one another
only to have their grasp
thwarted upon reflection.
pronounced initials
of first impressions,
whose brevity transfigures
misinterpretation,
decays under analysis.
living contrition assumed
when death is.

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Minding my senses

It’s hard to see clear skies with stormy eyes. Yet when eyes are unrestricted it’s hard to see clouds. I wear glasses because my vision is degrading, and I have trouble differentiating from either. My eyes may be witness, but my mind will redirect account. Definitely a short sight on my part, hence the glasses. It’s to bad they don’t fix askew thinking. Crooked as my thinking may be, I must attribute most of that to my lack of experience, understanding and intelligence. I know that I don’t know, but due to my mental deficiency, I don’t foresee any possibility of redemption. It’s funny how my eyes see what my mind selects as truth. All these involuntary actions, these finite senses are funneled and filtered through a central location, curating validity through make-belief reasoning founded upon others similar processes of deception.