to its original state
would be a white hole,
a window into old cosmology --
no more dog-eared memories
no rigmarole credos,
nailed-to-the-counter politics
or other matted horns of the republic.
Gone the scars of marketing,
nightmare news, incidental
songs, the vagrant cornucopia
of noise and labels force fed
to that mental hold for so long --
all would be condensed to
a nameless peace,
the body newly imbued
with a silver glow,
the mind bright and precise
as a streetlamp chink
in a discrete venetian blind.