by Gideon Burton
Through which glass darkly viewing: book or page
or Latin, lens or focus, resolution, screen?
Along what vein projecting: inky age
or pixels perfect, language evergreen?
At certain angles textures cough and claw,
or smooth a prism's lancing of the black
confusions time accumulates in raw
and mute abundance. Certain masks retract
the numbness; certain fabrics sew the sense.
A pattern is an optic, matrix, stone
Rosetta, glyph unglyphed, thick verbs untensed;
dark algorithms make the darkness moan.
Like sheep from goats, the signal parts the noise;
simplicity's complexity that's poised.
Photo: flickr - philobiblon