Aqueous Humor
The black navel of contemplation—the theater hall—
throbs, brash flashes of screen light assault.
The walls holding in the public: strobe, engross, entomb,
fragile denizens of the dark—in their skin sacks. Gazing
ever outward—as emotion and anger floods over them.
Never acknowledging, their own vicariousness; they sit.
The black falsifies—corpus mundi—the body of the
world— it is a screen of aqueous humor between
the orb of eye nourishing mind over matter. The
bouncing ball of real and surreal worlds scroll,
