Yes, I am closing your eyes for you.
It's good that way. What is wrong with not seeing?
Can't you still hear and touch or feel?
I would gladly describe for you what runs crookedly before my face:
Thousands of trumpets without whispers or meaning.

Yes, and it tastes so rich, like plaster-- white, average plaster.
Your songs, your opinions and meaning are, without vision,
pale, cool and evaporous, as April rainbows.
Therefore you all want to de-color them and call such rainbows
black-and-white compositions.

Well then, sweetheart, why are you sad? Have you not slept with your dreams of neutral rainbows?
Twice--
Eaten, your plaster-filled silence?
Four times--

And been drunk with the aroma of moist soil?           ONCE.
.Lewd.
"Ego cogito nihil"
Can you, after all, read?
Never, without the eyes--