The speaker looks back at childhood nights spent staring at the sky, eyes wide open, and then follows that memory into a drifting, half-dreamlike state. The opening is boastful in a quiet way: "I've forgotten more / Than you'll ever know." But the poem soon undercuts that confidence. The images get stranger and more broken up, with rhubarb, pieces of eight, and feet in the air sitting side by side without any obvious logic. It feels like thoughts sliding past just before sleep, or perhaps in a fogged, impaired state, as the line about "IQ getting filmy" suggests.
The repeated line "The more I see" works like a refrain, but it never leads to clarity. Instead, seeing more brings more unease, and the final lines turn tense and physical, with fingers that need care and a growing discomfort. The mood is hazy, restless, and slightly threatening. The poem suggests that awareness can be a burden rather than a gift, though it leaves the exact cause of the speaker's unease unexplained.