Eyes that Sprout Eyes in the Unknown Unknown

The ground opens like an old man's smile,

containing libraries of unfinished words,

shelves of instantaneous laughter that nobody understands,

the last thoughts of Ancient mesopotamian Argonauts,

a golden coin 

that rises into the air on the verge of of a Las Vegas 

madhouse,

where all the gamblers have arrived in perfect rhythm

(what are the odds of that?)

and their bodies are racing into the Riverbed

where the trout are swimming against the flow of memory,

every ten thousand centuries,

the rainbow erupts in a synergy of dissonance,

spectral manifestations of something that is looking for something 

in the echo chamber of the Antedeluvian Heart,

ten thousand nocturnes

exploring the depths of Chopin's cerebellum,

until the Old Man's eyes 

erupt with the scintila that move away from the End of Time,

towards the Starlight which is gathering it's Sailing Ships

at the Edge of the Sky,

Atlantean Dream Galleons traversing the Ionosphere 

on translucent parables of electromagnetic fire. 

*

In the depths of the codex, a hysteria of premonitions,

as if every word was written to explain something to someone 

that could never possibly be understood,

the same way the Moon shines above the Ocean

when the Sun has dropped like an Old Man's smile

into the Netherworld of exotic superstitions

and the daydreams of Chinamen whose names arrive 

in the Clouds,

hexagrams of ancient syllables

pursed by the Cosmological Shroud,

a fantasia of randomnicity 

containing ten trillion quasilogical sermons,

where the night is a Kingdom of Vegetable Mysteries,

eyes that sprout eyes into the world of the Unknown Unknown.