“I can calculate the movement of stars, but not the madness of men.” Sir Isaac Newton**
I can, but only of my own, the orbits of the stars within my envisioned mind, this anti-expanding universe this black hole of anti-matter collapsing inward, the gravitational pull calculable where I, madman creator, am the sole witness mine self-destruction
I summon fate, luck, random numbers to the dock, but all pleadingly state it wasn't me, "I was somewhere else, had to be, you cannot see my mathematical probability, ergo i am definitionally not capable of being guilty- my orbit of madness non transferable to you-mans"
who then can I blame?
for-seen poems every where, upon on every face lay dime store words of bad novellas, awake to work in dread, return from it more deadened and the piety pointy poetry pills refusing to cooperate, and the madness equation has too many answers viable