Symptoms

I see them billow after I half-close
My lashes – sailing scraped out buoyant skins
Of avocado, armaded and stern,
Or smooth or pitted, bannering the sight,
Becoming colder, creamier, but vague,
Possessing stink of wonder and the end
Taking the passage via that throwaway
The starkened mounding, on one way, in fact
To pinnacles. Between plasma and blood
The mind-multching accomplishes enough.