for Redd Foxx

Sometimes I dream of a solar eclipse in my eyes I have grown too weary of the naked eye and its weaknesses in the light beyond gentle reflections and their sensitive images there are darker hues sinister colors and obscene visions I want to wield to drink spirits and howl blasphemies to speak ghostly and ghastly rattling god with evocative gestures to lust after saints and turn sacrilegious their divine convictions gospels of loneliness and martyrdom do not bury me gently I do not want to be perfumed and catalogued bones or delivered the denizen’s dozen bouquets of orchids tulips and carnations I want to be a pile of fresh ash to fade into some ominous place I want to breathe in the nauseating scent of holiness curse believers and laugh softly with a sanctified woman in the shadows take me to a sacred rock where I’ll give my testimony about vision and its impaired sightings fragmented scenes and disturbing revelations deliver me from these eyes I want to close them and fold myself in their unreliable darkness and be brushed into locks of wind