The First Problem

Of all the aches that press
On the half-wake minds
Amid their fleeting conversations
Mine is in a garden

Of all the chronic pains
That stir us to complain
Swipe surfactant frustrations
Mine is in a garden

All the savage battles
The claw marks in your skin
They're perched upon a ladder
A fable of a plinth

Fovea

There's a surgical knife that I've carried all my life
And I can't put it down because I don't know how
To live devoid of everything I've ever known
It's all an illusion

I need my constants, my safety, my monsters
To filter my senses into tiny tasks
But what are thoughts without conclusions?
A sea of confusion

Business is defining, business is explaining,
Data needs aligning, structure needs dividing,
Numbers need resolving, info recreating,
Never stops evolving, never dies

Focus on what matters, bend it into patterns,
Break it into fractions, actions for reactions,
All these things need corners, all these things need borders,
All are ordered into pixel-lines

We're balancing on a pinpoint
On a library of assumptions