Residue of an echo of a tune,
Eyelids and laceration on the surface of night.
Blind beasts and their dull slash wounds,
Time is gored in the ritual disjunction
Of dim eyes & their aspirations
Through the scalpel of sleep.

Residue of an echo of a tune, beautiful :)

In your last poem, you complained about the readers not understanding your poem. I beg to differ, i would rather enjoy the flow the poem takes. Your choice of words here were unique with the suject. Gore, slash of wounds, scalpel ,ritual.

It shows me itself
In my face of black oceans.
In its cloak of angry eyes
I see, melted, my vacuous avatar
Becoming the iris of a ringed lake.

The way you paint the face here. Just beautiful.