Stars over Evil Dwellings
What do you see in the billion pointed?
Lenses lend them haloes.
What do you glean from their winkings?
The glass eye trims them to crosses.

I look until I see through.
Then come poster-paint splotches,
Davidic overlayed triangles,
where a chubby hand attempts
first unions of up and down.
Chevron of blue shadow
penetrated wetly
by one of verdure, or
dried blood's doubled triad.
Threeness, thing that will be,
that must be, regardless.
...