trickling tinkling tinkering


and my heart was an atlas whose continents are not written fully
yet I love them no less for they are not discovered but freer
to maneuver their own terrain if need be; post-atom and post-
atomization they have survived the wrecks of the pendulum
and the harvest of swings and the pandemonium related to
diplomacy and violence. No. They are not innocent merely
versatile and variant; they conduct alternate research and meta-research
feeling the lukewarm language of the subalterns they see the will o’ wisps
and the frenzy nearby and they know that the tech is not always trusted.


vines and mazes are not only confused gadgets they anchor in them
a ship’s need for water; a human’s need for challenge; an instinct’s craving
for reassurance for the proofs of love that math may be basically writing to decode
in (a+b) cubes and squares. For a square is a 2dimensional cut and a cube is that added
circumference of measure that adds diversity in a anatomy of requirements. Can you say to the
hexagon that the octagonal closeness is more well known? For some shapes are better learned
that the ambling itch at the husk of your skull making you think day in and out.

and hope persists further than melancholy; it showers more and its storms are fiercer
if you see the chaos in a needle than you know its graphing needs surpass the bickering
howls of hopelessnes.▬

Speak yer mind

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