An Ode to Vision: When Reality Fades so Imaginary Sharpens

I've been searching
for a way out
of this blurred vision.
Among checkups and lenses
I watched through pink frames.
Instead I am ostracized
from the eagle-eyed party,
of seemless twentytwenty sight. 
left to imagine beyond the blur. 
I've hoped to wake 
to crystal clear perfect
and high-def resolution
outside my window hole.
But in its place I 
see cloud-tree soup
and my bookshelf 
a color casserole.
While the birds I should be chasing
turn into V's approaching our sun
turn into nothings one with the sky.
I will mask this pink plastic
in the folds of a book
later I might read
in hopes of escaping
the blur.
I cover my traitorous eyes
behind the curtains
so that the objects will not
blend in a foreign stew 
I must later analyze.
They will rest on the pages
of an isolated island
with letters crisp as 
tree leaves should be. 
These sad clouds will not rain
and soon know what 
all the others could only 
imagine, through a blur. 
This poem is about: 


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