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Eyes

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After John Milton

Our light is never spent.
Is spent.

Thus have we scooped out
maceration reservoirs.

We will blaze forth  
what remains
as pixels.

Great angels  
fly at our behest
between towers,

along axons and dendrites,

so that things stand
as they stand

in the recruited present.
Source: Poetry (June 2009)

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This poem originally appeared in the June 2009 issue of Poetry magazine

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Eyes

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