*Talent*

"I have an eye for it," We says,
munching the tit of our heads.
And, "I have an eye for it," We thinks,
without alibi or reason but instead

We forgets
Really We's only always wished We had an eye for it.

Wishing suffices for having:
Clad in ourself in a forest of our intention
we become invisible.

We can't see us
but We can hear us
scratching at the pine wood

We bursts through the dirt, one
hand thrust like lilies
We stands, shakes, and stumbles
toward referenceless cities:

We isn't done.

We isn't done.

We dresses up what We wants
and calls it a part of us.

We kidnaps it and beats it
until it talks.

We ransoms it to ourselves
and makes the drop off.

We stands with the briefcase,
millions aligned,
and We hands what
We wants to what
We wants to receive what
We wants to

believe that We is.

But We looks down both ends
of the highway and don't see We coming.
We turns and turns against the stretch but

We don't have the eye for it yet.

We's given We away to We and this --

this is what We calls seeing?