When we
decide amorphousness has grace, 
it’s partly
the result of taste: perception wed to a belief in symmetry – 
a limitlessly
querying investigation of the eye intent 
on finding
balance: employing such availing talents
as one’s
vision has for sorting out the yin and yang, those Big Bang 
opposites primordially
offering their sense to everything. But I would 
sever our
Existence’ flight from all dependence on that sort of wing: 
I think it’s
odder: I think that formlessness is not just fodder for our 
dreams of
form. It’s what it seems: unborn, unshowable, unknowable. 
There’s grace in its abjectly unexaminable space..


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