is that it is up-against the obvious;
it is an atom of diamond dust in a mournful stretch of black and bone;
it is costly, like drops of fake nirvana;
it is mad, like how it is;
it is ridiculous like the men who played music in the sinking ship;
it is a needle of light rotting under thousand years of skin,
hurting, making us children, threatening with never-ending.
The thing about beauty is that it is meaningless-
meaningless, downright love against all odds.