A Lens

I.

An exchange of energies,
or, to send these quanta of light back
to their point of origin.
A temple for the eyes,
a fictive intersecting point just ahead:
across spectra, mournfully,
forms radiata.
Shadows cast stupidly at shadows,
reflective moments wasted
taxonomising the environment.

II.

Oh the words these objects accrete.
From which they are divorced at which point that simple shuddering begins.
Something drips from the forehead.
An impoverished marrriage to a meshwork of surfaces.
All too suddenly, a vibratory force upends the vision.
Some miraculous concordance of frequencies cuts into a seam of noise
and the throng and tumult of being finally induces a certain queasiness.
Through these lenses you shall perceive the bodies.
Through my teachings…

III.

He could not stop worrying
about how this diaphanous haze would lower the tone of the event.
As photons rushed garishly to zones of interest, novel tonalities,
as they were entangled with and disentangled from the scenery,
as the iconography of the plateau fell out of fashion…

IV.

A late evening in the circuitry of phenomena.
All alone, in the laboratory, her expression darkens.
Meaning briefly dances across the sullen contours of her face.
She unknots the brow carefully.
Pixels collapse into semantic soup.
While I wander the space between screens,
something intangible promises to scatter me out across the void.
The black pool before us entirely still.
This mirror that drinks in the world, becomes it.
Through the mechanism of scope perhaps
we will be sucked up into the infinite,
images of thought trailing behind us, into fluid space.
We shall split into our component intensities.

~Thomas Murphy