Eyes below the horizons, this hypotenuse transmits
what they tell me is an illusion of singular contact.
An illusion which comes straight to me!!
But what of the reflections? The shadows?
Those too, straight to me! But perhaps,
just perhaps, not source. Or, you know
at least that's what works today.
In a circular universe these angles
direct to you and I, in some kind of
Pythagorean configuration or someshit,
to wellsprings of new inclinations.
Rising up at right angels, seems... right.
You're there, and I'm (over) (here). But always
at this precise gradient (I tell you!) transmitting
an illusion of singular contact when
the old fella hangs at these watchful, dusky heights.
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