Saw Kafka's "THE METAMORPHOSIS" last night.
In dance, words realized and a man sticky
As he decomposes,
Composes his family.

But without the usual inspiration,
Afraid to tackle what can not be made more
Beautiful.

So instead I scribble an equation
And put my head underneath the
Bathtub water,
And calculate my foolishness,
Dabbling in the mathematics of
Love and poetry.