Am I really a torus?

A star tetrahedron?

Or merely unbegun,

 a blob of undifferentiated substance?

 

Solid, four-square lumps of stuff

tangible and visible to each other.

Frantic, Palaeolithic apes

or media-tech whizz-kids;

whicheverway - polarised and toxic

cellularly, in ideology and practise

in the 3D world we perceive as only real.

Everyday, we are all indentikitted

by an image, a word, a bar-code.

 

Is there no redemption, alternative?

No exception to the rule, consensus

or common denominator,

between the extremities of social calumny and individual ineptitude?

All reduced to the weight of the average

in the manner of waveform momentum.

 

Am I illumined?

brain-wrecked?

Conned and reduced to the bottom line

of collective inertia, deficiency, IQ?

Just another cog of becoming,

spawned and programmed

 by archetypal business models of ago.

 

The point is, somehow existent in flesh

with nothing to prove it bar evidence

- evidence that is personal, subjective

and ultimately irrelevant;

noise, static, blips on a screen,

shadows, echoes, illusions.

 

I am the shape of a dream, a whim

the glint at the end of an eye or mind.

Solid as a rock or bone, you say?

a dancing electron blur, a sonic wobble, surely!

When unperceived, do we disappear

 - only to manifest when cognised

by self or some other life-form -

having an outline, periphery, dimension

and sensory apparatus

according to the canon of phi ratios;

anomalies between

the golden mean and Fibonacci spirals.

 

So it is all sacredly designed,

without beginning or end

around right angles!

 whether daisy, shell, seed or creature,

alongside the Schumann 7.23

extending the principles and coordinates

to man-made structures:

Pyramid, Parthenon, Pagoda.

Perfection of form.

The mystery and magic of Shape.