Paradigm

What’s the paradigm; and why so valid; and by what culture?
If one life broken; and one life whole: How judge the same?
Indeed a web—a must ignore—and nonetheless—a fleece of
Notes; and thoughts are waves—considered bricks—an

Absolute—the ink of blood. I fathom not—and beckon love:
A gracile hand: a studied gait; and heart amore—a quiet lot:
A feathered pain: a dripping soul; and deep the cut—and nigh
The bone; and thus the mind—a torn return. I fathom more the

Trial of rain: the wounds and guiles and cubic pains; and yet
The same—I fathom more: a sudden light—the bricks of
Thought. No answer caught—the grief of days; and private
Hopes—a portrait cave; and yet to live—is yet to breathe: to
Pause and blink, and count the leaves; and why recant—a ‘brella
Wide—when all the time—the brick is mind.