Futurist Synthesis!

Her eyes are full of study Her shelves are filled with books of People who thought about details And who promptly fell in love Because the stage and the canvas Were suddenly the corners of rooms That anyone could notice And shout "Art!" and throw combs Partly through their hair And feeling they knew what was Current, fly home to read the news Unfortunately because People are busy and the rest Are poor collectors, all the fresh Solid, true ideas written in her sensual books' flesh And touched in bed before sleep Are catalogued When her age was eight She had to memorize Roman numerals With only a vague Idea of what that meant To everything, or to her Only a nervous need to acknowledge places she hadn't Lest something become furious enough To show her strongly that details like acknowledgment Had no known place in an eight year old world Which would have made her sad, at least, or even frightened Now now, there is nothing to be afraid of now There is nothing to be afraid of now In this later world, she's found reassurance And is free