Think of something.

titled: the deepening haze of meta-fascination,
the work tells on numerous levels of the tools
that can reconstitute some lost sense of oneness,
and in that without this feeling being lost
it might seem tangible, which horrifies against
its very meaning, and its crying mantra:
the more you know, the more you see
that really you know a shred of nothing,
and in this lies the real heart
of a thousand generations of learning and discovery
and the acquisition of, the fascination with,
the devotion unto
knowledge.

Arc Like the Sun

The Eros of the arc

of a red bull can tilted back,

the balance on your fingers

as the biting philter flows,

the last drops curving down the can

and the pivot of your hand

shading the faded dawnlight,

and the exponential grace

of the can's arc is reflected

in her darling curves

through the filter of fresh brightness

in the rising morn dawn's arc,

and the grace is like the can's

and as the swelling vitriol flows,

the curves stir in the velvet pool

and a sun of greater brightness

stirs up and shades the faded light,

the face stirs up and harkens back unto the night

and the stirring curves are rising in the velvet

and as the can tilts back and livens the fluid

easing the roll of the eyes

that rest on the girl's subtle curve

just beyond, the fervid arc of dawn's first luminescence

in the tender

spirited morning,

you smile a bright arc

and are given to laughing,

an easy flow that blows from the soul

and the laugh is caught and she is smiling,

and her arc is like the sun,

all her arcs are like the sun.