every poet is a theif

poor vision

as i was sucking back a cigarette by the bike house, i took off my specs and commenced an overwhelming yet contained sense of clarity. perhaps an epiphany. i like the word “perhaps” because i can verbalize an uncertainty, perhaps an intelligible uncertainty. i digress. i was looking out into false creek searching the water for these adorable multicolored sea buses, planning on following one with squinted fervor. i like to squint, i like having poor vision. i loved reading basked in poor light and i feel zero regret for the flawed vision i have now. i think it’s because it compels me to see what’s in front of me with better attention; any attention at all really. in my mind, i’m thinking, ” i can’t see shit, but this small fern is magnificent.” i was looking at what seemed like more of a weed but when i scrutinized it, there was a lady bug with spots so close together it seemed striped. a fuckin’ ladybug. i can’t even recall the last instance that i even saw a lady bug and i’m thankful for my poor vision otherwise i would have dismissed nature right at my feet, under my nose. sweet nostalgia. i’m obsessed