this is genetics
maybe plato's mother liked to feed him alphabet soup.
perhaps i should drink some myself, chew up the letters like
medieval monsters digested knights. let
the sentences dribble through my teeth.
my metabolism cannot digest light choked cities,
nor can it churn windswept snowfields into new testament;
peer through the drywall to glimpse the wires inside: clear cut.
i peer at my own skin and try to decipher the dialect
but i can't glimpse god through the follicles.
only alphabet soup. streets of mental poverty
that haven't learned to line their soup up with reality.
if everything is a light switch
then maybe we must adjust to the dark