Eye of the volcano,

Open from the focal excavation

Site of it’s platformic base,

Pulses in energy, the green iris

Predicament glowing harshly

In dark and light rings around

Opaque Pupil: as it is deprecatingly

Named for the shards of tangible

Sediment it lets off into precious

Mining island earth dissolves

In visitation hands like igneous rock

But without glazed form as in ceramics:

Falling out chafed away by grasping

Stubborn picking hands, it is

The charcoal of rubbed into some

Portraiture, I must say, if the hunter

Is a random picker that has found

In childish collecting the material

For wild art in tedious art studios.

Eye of the volcano,

Without question it doesn’t blink

And with worthless question

It blinks without visibility; did

You know eye lashes are plastic,

And volcano eyes have transcended

With magma the ire of coconut cutting

Madmen living the atire of palm tree

Strings and mud caked roofs which crash

Down on the wrath magnetism, the field

Is outward in emanation from the eye

Not relative; we don’t have regular

Power symbol magnitudes which makes

One more seductive than the other,

For it changes with the millisec— seconda

Seconda that ticks in secondary syncopation

The latter is emphasized in collision, no

There is not first before the second when

Tectonic impact is made and seconds

Are foreign to the island people. Blink first

Before the second know the eyelid falls

Against nothing but weaker gravitational field

In reverse resistance upward against upper

Handed upper eyelid, and their poor

Houses are so cherished as to fall

Against equiliibrating fumes with electricity

And push against suspended ceilings,

That is how the mud cake ceilings rest

Against reverse gravity of the ancient eye.

Priceless deity, the eye is.

Gods exist to the island peoples,

Yes. They’re not dormant in modernity,

Try to call it normalcy and hey hey

Hi ho ho volunteer in cancer research

On the island? What an absurd thing to

Say. The eye exists that is why superstition

And idolatry of mere story heroes was

Awakened in imagination, but others far

Away from the eye, to them I say,

They are not excused from the source,

The distance in which magnetism failed

To reach their knowing, and the kind of

Knowing which must come as a prelude

To guaranteed acceptance, because inferior

Human reasoning can’t come up with that

Only a few elements of what Eye does,

And inserted within human soul, spirit,

And bodies, that’s what makes for

Futile stories. Lines of thought and imagined

Belief that is collages in drama,

Wow these are only for children who

Need to know a taste of the chaos

Of adulthood. The eye knows

Each one and their intentions before

It germinates in to understandability and

Human flaws that set in to prepare one

For downfall and mistake.

The eye sees, it doesn’t need to blink

And it is ugly not eyeball like,

For those who heard the myth but have

Fallen in duplicity to body beauty which

Must be princely in fashion when memorized

Words come out with godly ambition.

Those people are so wrong, because the eye knows it can’t be seen, and it doesn’t need

Skin, but people want to see it, and can’t,

And it doesn’t exist to them anymore even

If they have seen a fragment of charcoal

Tears come off from this alien object.

When is excavation complete?

Digging towards the center, it is

The five layers of magma, not the

7depths of inferno?

Earth is so strange; no I want to say

The eye is so tempting, for every island I

Have excavated for its lovely and true

Emanation in visible light; floating and

Weightless which my perfect and intact

Eyes can see. And when others discover

This same eternal gem, I’d say, with my

Wicked cunning, that lights emanate from

Indigenous inhabited places because this

Island is mine, and I had not to discourage

Them from the magic of the island which

They danced and hopped violently against

The tropical earth, chanting in rhythm

So arithmetically compatible with their

Wrathful hopscotch.

Eye of the volcano,

If blinded, everything shuts down. It is

Night always, and the island people

Must give in to slumber at random times

Where anarchy and assault rage

At random times, they can’t bow down to

The switch light switch no the rulers of

Universe, god Day and goddess Night,

And man and woman are switched off

You have to be both, island person.

Focal is not dual which is the focus

And which are the surroundings,

As simple tribal sight sets their

Bounds around family members

In the clan. You got to hop not when

Light cracks through the schism of the

The floating territory which has in magic

No need to connect to ocean floor

And has no bounds in perimeter,

Expanding 1000x plus or minus based

On its own will, just need to be solitary

And nothing main in stream to the ma

Mad mad imperious mainland. We are

A flag of own and the island powers with light of

Earth and sky, that is why electricity

And device, location and other sultry

Awarenesses of speed of ideas and

Respect, popularity into complex types of

Authority, boss, president, and pop star

Don’t exist just humility to sky darkness

And heeding time to sleep when

Rounding a and auctions get tired, it is dark

Regularly, we pray for satisfaction of hunger

Which everyone must obey and at regular

Intervals and extremities. That is the power of the island light, that the eye only forces

To the height of its inhabitants, who can’t jump

High enough to escape objective measurement

And no this decree of how many

Centimeters high, the believe,

Doesn’t come from the downward peer

Of the coconut tree, the coconuts have

No spacial awareness.

High up high down it is determined by the eye

And when people have grown up

In maximum centimeters in adulthood or

Latest childhood that is their stature

In regards to the savagery pricking

Others, to fall headfirst plummet into

A randomly napping other,

They can damage it beyond belief,

All organs, and you don’t know this is

Their way of fight, with no strategic retaliation,

Even possible. And you just don’t know

It except for this crazy poem you

Can bypass or remember for a few days,

But that is what happens.

Awakening after the eye isn’t survival,

It’s not surviving the natural deficiencies

That makes you lucky not to be an island person,

But if you wake before headfirst attack,

The island roused you from the eye, not

The exhaustion of the night, and its taunting

You, your eyes need light to see?

The eye doesn’t, that’s why they don’t realize

The power is the eye way larger and

Superb than everyone else’s: wake up.