seeing with my eyes closed

Radiance, I think, which becomes
harsher until it pushes away
cognition becoming a singular
explosive of what’s happened.

This is when sun jumps suddenly from
a gap in the trees which is sensed
through my closed lids whilst trying
to allow the train to rock me to sleep, to sleep.

It is also the buffering as
associations crowd and counterfeit
inspiration, and, despite being ill at
these numbers, there is noise — I promise.

This; that was (again, the tick
tock that enjambs the moment
requires a certain self-malice
to see truly, being film).

Finally, allow eyes to roll smoothly
aside and become secondary until
that buzz builds and sweat stains
and all that is funny is suggested

radiance through closed lids.