I name them according to my gods – Winged Rabbit,
Tends Toward Left, Glances, Bumpy Chain.
Floaters on sky, floaters on white paper, floaters
on the pixelated screen of every light surface –
Darting eyes direct the spin – I’ve got something
secret in the world. When skin is broken above my brow,
blood clouds vision. When all my wants suddenly shake, flipping
whites toward doves that fly from cups, cut by swords –
nothing is really taken. There is nothing really given. In my sole
control no one knows about the floaters in the vitreous.