the Poet is like a sphere with her centre everywhere and his circumference nowhere, without beginning nor end, always rolling, rolling ’round ‘unknowings’ wondrous bend – mostly metaphor is a trick of the light to get these reflections just right, so, you-know, it’s glinting in your eye as you release into the ‘flower of meaning’ with a sigh; like looking at the mesmerizing-sea glimmering-many-Suns, so sympathetic-tessellations resonate in your oceanic-brain, where synapses shivering-sentient luminescence, reflect again ‘n again … then you’re an ecstatic swimming in a whirl’d-view, swooning with another oceanic-dream waving inside of you…
