Giving Up on My Eyes

I’ll let myself go blind by decades.
My eyes are a little less awake each year.
But I won’t get the new pair of glass
every time the driving frightens me.
I’ll bear down harder on my eyes
and bend the world in to sensible shape.
I’ll press them like marbles in my pocket
until they become two oval stones
with hazel-blue jewels floating
in their cracked-glazed halos
By then the light in my eyes will come
from their own molten cores.
I’ll have the visions of prophets
and the world of darkness w
will feed me its dreams through
the thirsty soil of my body.