Uncle history’s corpus callosum
Splits his brain
Between the long past
And the recent past
But its worse than this
He spins across rooms
Right foot in one ugly moment
Left foot in another
“Ugly ugly ugly” he sings
Sometimes he has to lie down
Sometimes he has to read Confucius
“One joy dispels a hundred cares”
But he has no joy—
Just a pocket stuffed with glass eyes
Which he hands out to children
Planet of the Blind 