O night that has eclipsed tomorrow's day.
O joy born of nutmeg.
You are just like the joy without you, only I find it through digestion of food and sweets, cigarettes and coffee.
In any case that joy is a gradual climb unlike nutmeg.
Should you be God's word among others?

O neck of pain,
O joints of strain.
O look without word.
O look without attribute.
Light aligns in columns to thee.
Now light a leaning tower.
Now a horizontal bar.
My light is put out by eye's lens.
*My consciousness puts out my stare.