Macular System

A gunshot of distance and burnt rounds
Shape the spot of sun which I remember

I remember the shape of sun spot round
Burnt into my eye,

I remember the round shot burnt red
Into my eye, my remembering.

At severe highway speeds the traffic cones
Loom in blur then materialize

Like a hard kernel in the popcorn
A gliding vision turned into sudden rock,

The absorbed light masticated on points.
And then the unfinished bridge

Rows of unhinged rebar, hull of shape
Reported hanging around

The spot of blast and sun.