Leonardo DaVinci distracted by the egoic marvel of ingenuity

He had been waiting in textured moments

Transmuting all the frazzled brain electrocutional

Pathway dislocation

Across the rhythmic threshold of the divine

Presenting it as the gift of a deranged infidel

Silently skulking outside the temple gates

So he could lay out all of his

Unlimited frescoes of the mind

The painting of the Last Supper

Carved into cave grotto walls

Of the Celestine monastery, the Cistercian hovel

Where moisture would simply embellish

Then emaciate

The patterns he had announced with his fingertips

Evolved with heredity agriculture

Descended from the multitudes

That caused him to fragment

Into dual augmentations of creativity

Tapped into the recovery and resuscitation

Of the lingering wisps

Arising from the perimeter of the mind

Slowly integrating themselves into

The lamentations of the mad

Trapped inside this material world

With the brazen construction of engineering marvels

Of calibrated inoculation

Of words made prevalent by the notion of divinity

That prevented the rapturous mechanistic mind

From seeking the puzzle of material integration

He was both an artist, a visionary interlude

A conduit for the divine entry into the world

And a vessel of scientific wanderlust

Attacking the muscled interaction of heroic inner vision

With the collection of atoms we would construct

With our fingertips

Encapsulation, coalescence, dissemination

Divinating the abstract constructions of the mind

Into corporeal manifestations in this material world

He would walk away from the grotto

The Celestine monastery, the Cistercian hovel

To export the atomic principles he had brought to

External aggrandizement

Through the expansive visionary embrace of the holistic mind

He was the gigantic parts

Of the meager whole

There was nothing he could not bring

Nothing he had not brought

But there was nothing he would ever finish

Treading in the incestuous footprints

Of the Duke of Milan

Sforza

He had ornamented and embellished everything

Creating monumental costumes

To typify a recreation of the pretentious allegory of

The contemplated mind

Believing he could do everything, anything

He would do nothing at all

There were visionic regenerations he would never finish

The Last Supper would arise and evaporate

On the walls of the cave grotto

He would never finish the whispered conspiracy

Of Peter, or the methodical counting fingers of Judas

Because he knew it was all just some ideological recreation

Of the patterns of Greek mythology

Laid out by the Homeric imagination

And set in stone by the remembered oral tradition

Of pretentious diatribes

He understood

Without much contemplation

That the Last Supper was just one more

Patchwork modification of the psychology of myth

There was no more truth to its occurrence

Then the stone cast eyes of Orpheus

As he arose from the bowels of Hades

There was no reason to complete it

He would deposit his rags on the temple doorstep

And return to generating the engineering marvels

On paper

That would never leave the grain