The world sits cross-legged nearby,

eyes closed

I'm trying a fine-tuned, technical attitude

today,

thinking in bolts & screws;

in the speed of megabits, volume of terabytes;

in exact angles;

in rising euclidian angels,

as envisioned by Gustave Doré;

mene mene tekels slithered across a Big Moon horizon

in the merciless chirography of welding torches,

beautiful incisions opening the backs

of well-washed anaestethsized bodies,

leaving Tibetan titanium temples tingling

through the lofty hours of enlightenment,

fastidious haikus hauling perfection

up out of the hospitals of Western societies

I'm trying a fine-tuned, science-shiny outlook

tonight,

merging differences, splitting consensuses

through the circadian circuits of sleepless cities,

lifting the veils of anaesthesia

with the utmost care,

letting Big Moon gaze in silence

over bolts & screws,

across words at the beginning of language

and various means of communication

The world opens like a flower

at the end of a pun