Loading ...How is the bound hand to move?
The black shackle pins it to the table;
It cannot trace even the slivers of sky
The eyes transmit to it along conducive nerves.
How is the blinded eye to see?
The stitched lids admit no light directly;
It twitches in its fleshy cell, blocked, desperate
To transmit some sign more than darkness.
Dear friend, this body–blocked, blinded, bound–
Does its work exactly in its limits,
Pointing our desires beyond what cannot
Meet them toward what can.
The fault inherent in this eye, this hand,
Conceals the chasm we might cross: unbound.
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All I can say is what Neo said in the first Matrix movie. Whoooah.