GEOMETRIZING
Pollen magnified into
spiny mine-like rambutans
and
geodesic domes.
“God geometrizes.”
The production of shapes
Once initiated tends
To wrack a thousand
infinite emptinesses.
In a prism,
a chaos blossoms
like a horde, overcoming
the plain, golden wheat and
a girl gets plucked up.
Throw it all to nothing—
the sculptor balls the
clay
into a formless mass in
frustration
eliminating all
distinctions.
The egg is laid—
a boring yolk,
a brooding goo—
From where and how then
Do strands begin to wind
and join?
The painter applies his
strokes—
smudges of egg and color
to the wall, of his
majesty’s imperial
cathedral.
Lines as yet senseless,
Meaningless to the
observer—
The embryo’s sudden bulges,
fish-like appendages…
Plied upon by-whom?
(never a has a painting
randomly composed itself into
existence)
What immortal hand—hands,
Phantom fingers writhing
delicate, gentle stokes,
unseen—
A vast collaboration of
multitudes
lost in a conspiracy of
silence—
ciphered, wageless,
thankless
ever-ignored unseen
laborers
Masters of triangles,
lines,
cones and spheres—
Molders of form,
chaos-inseminators.
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