Parallax from Violent Order by Matte Martin

I grasp a rim that isn’t there:
My glasses have been misplaced somewhere.
Yet my neck strains from the weight of the frame:
My mind feels discordant pain.

This sight is terrible:
Between the upper rim and my unmediated sight widens a chasm.

Three fingers scratch at palpable hair,
Confused that my full sight’s not there.
Once they’re on I’ve two angles to see:
Two perspectives of reality.

This sight is terrible:
Between the upper rim and my unmediated sight widens a chasm.

A parallax directs my sight, yet I cannot perceive the tangible.
A parallax trains my sight, and I am seeing through everything.
The catacombs of my mind remain undisturbed and tightly sealed.
A parallax drains my sense, and I cannot see anything.

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