There is a certain elegance in lines,
a grace that attracts the eyes
to that which is cloaked within the
echoic mystery of an ever clever guise.
All that is knit
from the fabric
of a most frantic
illusion in space,
borrows movement
from a riddle,
poised in a mostly empty place.
It enchants the mind like a diorama
hung
upon the
fiber optic
sky,
with pictures of the thoughts behind
the artists telescopic ><><><><><>< eye.
Our surreal desires are drawn boldly
from the breathing palette
of a bright reality,
with living loving strokes
that portray our very substantiality:
and never will it betray
the flaws
in neither an other worldly
symmetry,
nor the immense complexity
of some alternate geometry.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
There is a certain elegance in lines,
a grace that attracts the eyes
to that which is cloaked within the
echoic mystery of an ever clever guise.
All that is knit
from the fabric
of a most frantic
illusion in space,
borrows movement
from a riddle,
poised in a mostly empty place.
It enchants the mind like a diorama
hung
upon the
fiber optic
sky,
with pictures of the thoughts behind
the artists telescopic ><><><><><>< eye.
Our surreal desires are drawn boldly
from the breathing palette
of a bright reality,
with living loving strokes
that portray our very substantiality:
and never will it betray
the flaws
in neither an other worldly
symmetry,
nor the immense complexity
of some alternate geometry.
Collaboration with my father Dr. Randolph Smith
