To What Design Does Your Measure Yield?

I prefer spooky action at a distance
To a mechanics based on touch
Collocation is uncomfortable
And I suspect a hidden telos
Beneath extended entities
Disrupting my conatus
This much my body knows
And I’m deeply impressed
By its sentiments
However
I won’t be moved
By any absolutes
I find perfection in division
Gravity is reason
Rhythmically defined
Show me your downbeats
And I’ll dance of my own accord

Y’all ever Hear the One about the Alchemist who Concocted the Philosopher’s Stone?

That betch held fast to the clouds and squealed, “Wee! Wee! Wee!,” all the way home; bedazzled, hanging by their neck for the whole town to see. Hear my decree: “I have lost it! In fact, I have not seen a thing!”