Muffled in translation

before this day began and I knew everything, where everything was in its place, labelled, facing in a line and behind the bottles of red wine, hidden from the fractured eyes of linguists who disguised as spies would entertain me to the thought that if I carried what they brought, the alphabets that we were taught would become redundant,
Oh, fractured eye why spy on me?
I am a lectern on a sea and slowly drowning, can’t you see?
Oh, fractured eye why spy on me?

a million years ago,
I know that I know what there’s not to know
which is everything that Mother should
have told me.

© 2015, John Smallshaw.

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