I ride a small pony
his name is Don.
We have had a very
coopeative agreement,
all my life. I get
carried about inside and out
I just shift my glance and
change the pointing of my vision
my eyes do the work of making pictures.
I would miss Don if
it should vanish.
I could survive,
but instructing the aimers
could get complicated.
The aimers, I presume,
have become very used to Don.
I know they agree,
although I have not
been informed.
And, of course,
I don't know what
would inform me.
The colors swirl around me
as things operate in coordination with
entities generated in my eyes
and the special relevance of music.
My name is Don.
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- Posts: 3355
- Joined: Sun Mar 22, 2020 10:06 am
- Location: Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada