It's Patently Obvious

If fugitive fermentation could explain The way things spread themselves, again Upon the ocean of ubiquitous travel As a single dropp of oil, does unravel; Rainbows seeping, in a circular fashion Fumes far away the errant gasing station From a single random spark's ignition, per force The fire mows obliquely, toward the fuel source Indomitably, as though possessed weight and strength And address and destination, of which to speak While if the brain's more deliberate, synaptic threads Were more evenly spaced, throughout the head And could line up in tandem; an endless link In that quickened chain, makes one able to think; And if eyes should fasten on the first thing they see: I could never be your intellectual property.