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Even if the apparatus of lenses, ducts, and wires
sunk in our ocular sockets were improperly adjusted
to photons tunneling through aqueous and vitreous humors
(whether or not we're in the mood)
onto a film of ganglion cells,
if each bit of retina brain
were calibrated to the edges of the world--
precise excitements of light
which peak from the floor of noise into meaning:

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