Time Travel

This isn't the workshop piece I read in class (I read a scene from my play) but I've already heard comments on that so I wanted to post a poem on here. I wrote this a few weeks ago. I'm in the process of revising (this is the first draft) so any comments/ suggestions are appreciated! The title is working; I'm not sure what the final one will be.
Oh- I also have this one posted on my blog, Words of Couture, if you'd like to check that out :)

Time Travel
By Alexandra Evans

When we turn on the senses, prisms and light,
Waves on transcendental perceptions,
Surround a blade of grass-
An overload of cornea exposure
To saturate the concept of seeing.
And it is there when the dangling strings of mind
Begin to clutch to fragments of dust
Left scattered on the memory's floor-
An ink stain left on brittle parchment
A crumb of opportunity pushed to the side.

But it is by corners that man has made his numbers
around one wall we react by solvent
A cell for those particles gone astray
Where the eye can see its prey
And is reflected upon the gentle waves
of nerves twitched underneath the lash
Blink once for understanding

Or twice for no such comprehension,
Confusion
True of such rays of light
That color knows not of
Only travels through
To send a signal:
Wake up behind that pupil
For your precious metal eyes,
Stones of stormy aftermath
Can't even capture this moment
Due to harsh winds
Predict but never follow through
So vague that the newscast
Seems blank today,
So interfered that even the weatherman
Is glazed by bolts of light that
Block the colors in the prism
A hinder, a sty ingrained in grey
Storms not recognizable by us today.

So that we never sit through casting blind, we
Are given forms and figures
Temperate colors
That are not inside the rainbow
And imagination is the only vice
We have to ever see,
We have to ever separate
Of black and you and white of me.