Poet calls attention to private storm
Brewing near eyelids open and shut
Like a flag fluttering to the elements.

Eye lashes are men rising and falling.
Storm takes so much dust in and out.
Men are dust flushed out as allergen.

In upper heavens of power and lust,
As compared to steaming hell below,
The eyelids do not fall but only stare.

Eyewhites are our sea-change pearls
Rich and strange,sold in the bazaars
Near four towers scraping city skies.


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