the song is the story and your thoughts/what you see is the movement, the action,the space and the author can articulate depth by juxtaposing them both: steady staid one single story line (the song, empty pvris), and the flashes of metaphorical movement to deepen the scene. don't focus on an object in the reality, focus out of it to preserve the realness and yet unrealness of it: simultaneity, the crux of being.

aging universe, before capture, i am in your stills of eternity. to fade in to every inch of stardust and sparkle, edge of the world euphoria is in your veins because one side is her home, and the other a mask of my own. i go on, remade, because creation is never ignored by creators. what mockery would those hands be capable of, had they? they did not.

limits of vision is what you call an event horizon. what you call subjectivity is someone's objective nature. so then, Ginsberg, the circle was not broken, but perpetuated. you are not a poet.
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i got the lyrics wrong. adding pressure into the folds of a voice, replication of beauty. ha. beauty isn't so, it's not the pursuit of replication but the creation of other, subpar, greater, more, never same. never same. why do we find what we need when we scour sound as sand, as sea glass?