A box wherefrom

Insides too huge

For a tiny item's

Last refuge,


Like a planet in space,

As faraway as is,

Lost in its case,

A pair of glasses,


Whose world grows wide

Through heavy lenses,

Puffed and four-eye'd;

Magnifying hence is


A feature of sight,

Where space just suffices

The matrix of light,

And eyepieces need twice as


Much distance to see 

Their small paradises,

Focus obsessively

Heedless to sizes,


Whose creatures eye 

Their panopticon pen,

Then multiply

The scenery again,


Until their desires 

Get out of hand

And kaleidoscope fires

Bezel from land,


From hundreds of facets

Like the eyes of a fly,

So that spectacles' asserts

Surfeit the sky:


Myopic empires

Increase when divided,

Which sometimes requires

Being farsighted


Our vision is grown

With postage pending,

Strwen by its own

BOundless sending.


April 21st, 2003

Tippet Alley