shell game
steven james santroni

cosmoses are created
every second;

the eye worshipped,
a void encased by waves,
an explosion of
rippling pigment to the
edges

[no one is
 watching,
they don’t exist
 without you]

finite light drawn in,
your eye against
the curtain,
burst fade of repeating
shapes,
purple and orange
doorways

a new cosmos is created-

I see myself,

I repeat

just

once.