Parlor Tricks of Introspection

Your reflection fractures to tetrahedrons
scored by an idiot conducting the dragon kitten
to gather bags of chihuahuas with shaking eyes 
each drooling tongue pressed against the 
glass bottom boat made yellow submarine.

Your features grow umber mossy dendrites:
a nose nestled between pungent bifurcations
skyshot into florescences of caricatures,
lips orbisculating at each dogmatic chimera
conjured from naked purloins unclothed,
the temples of Artemisian rememorations and
the land of lost focus and clouded aquamarine.

Your corpus swells round the asymptotic eyes
voluptuous spirals folding over the yesternavel
scars stretched by chronic tectonics unleashing
untethered ejecta of an evolution outward,
the porcelain bondage of handpainting ultramarine.

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Explanation:
The recursion of introspection, that feedback loop of perception interpreting what it means 
to perceive, reveals the splines that underpin organic forms of macroscopic phenomena made up 
of geometric forms that swell beyond their definition with the interminglings of the active 
world.  The features we grasp in one moment incessantly metamorph into later stage concretions 
that fill in the unexplored cracks with infinites rounded down to an antialias.  The pigments 
we use to paint our chosen understanding are ground from the gropings of yesterday's potsherds 
forever mistaking the approximation for the whole.  To summarize, our eyes see in non-existent 
colors as we disregard the reality of how much signal is lost to noise, so we play games we 
call self consciousness to close the gaps of our economizing, then put the pen down and 
take a sip of coffee.