Faces are like ears…oval coasts with complex inlands.
Time’s just flattened spheres…we’re the needles riding its bands.
We sing out our parts…our harmonies & melodies.
We scrape out our arts…our indelible rarities.
Living & Dying…spun on two tables in tandem.
The records don’t change…but the styluses are random.
The finer the point…the more brightly it sounds the croon.
If dull at groove’s joint…crackle shaves nuance from the tune.
We’ve a central chord…from start, thru chorus & resolve.
All else complicates…these simple shapes that we evolve.