began with paper arguments, wipe-away lines crossed at the cardinal x of the low table, the surface
        the oily luster that absorbed the cotton-colored catalog light,
    began, actually then, with symmetry;

       the ragged tour entered a hall of empty pedestals, and it was the end
 of evolution, where the molecule-sized Ideal on display rubbed my wallet in my
     pocket,

but there was none left to spend, and I folded my hand, turned a corner of relics; then someone
        wanted to know the 'use';

in the next room, the restored typewriters from the Disaster tapped atonal measures,
    they were repeating my initials;

the nudes had lost their vulnerabilities, the blown-blue demeanor of a basecoat was
     the only antiphon of these critics;

         I could not forget the rescinded offer of their attachment to me, which hung there also,

                and as the session continued, I recognized a thesis, on daylight, and its twin-
                       the pay-off,

		 I asked
		what is it, is it affirmation, is time behind the answer, a lasting epiphany,
     a hot-point revelation, chunks of mortality,

		is this for the spectator, at the price of admission,

			though also the sense that none cares, fine, but there is
                         this frieze,

I think my moment was in the skylight room, where as the speaker's voice caught
   on the rear walls and held the treble of the small insight,

the cloud's shadows moved over the center of the audience (I thought)
      without relation.