And there you’ll learn
you are either them
or you

solving for X
tearing down any defense
any pretense

where X = right
and right = real
and real = them

because you are a number
that doesn’t exist
a square root of negative nine

and to you
dividing by zero should have made
infinity

but there you’ll learn
that you can’t divide
by zero

and the square root
of negative nine
can never be X

to them, to you, you’ll forever be
not a solution
but an error

After a tortuous hour of
math (algebra to be exact)
I start dinner; Middle Eastern stew:
Cardamom, Coriander, and turmeric.
Cooking is a little like math, but
much more like art. My mind begins
to ease as Bach pumps out
one of his symphonies from
the CD player. The stew boils, and
I want to go outside and play,
chase windmills. Where's Sancho?
Dulcinea's here, frustrated by my inept
ability in the equation game.
I ******* despise algebra.
Where's the Bluebird, the Sunflower,
Bukowski or Eugene O'Neil?
I want to smell a six-week-old puppy,
taste Van Gogh yellow, **** until
I can't walk, and ease my
way into old age.
Vivaldi plays his victorious song.
And I know I'll conquer the
numbers game, but probably not
before it drives me crazy;
actually, it's a short putt.

wom·an
/ˈwo͝omən/

1. a woman’s issues of god-tier poetry cannot be treated by carving her into more aesthetic form of stanza as defined by an unconscious poet, nor can she be bent into a more intellectually acceptable shape by those who claim to be the sole bearers of poetry.  

(w) heartsick saints and sinners.
(o) a ballbuster and untarnished empress.
(m) black bouquets and red roses.
(a) bleeding screams and convivial memories.
(n) fixed and broken sanities.

2. angel's darling won't make a woman less than poetry, add and reduce nothing, hades will mixed heaven and hell for persephone and the latter will just smile while mixing your body and your coffin together.

3. warning!!!
"a woman is a dangerous poetry that can destroy your existence in any angle."

(w) 90 degrees to an inclined surface and that will make her ******* poison you.
(o) 160 degrees to a ***** surface and that will make her use your genital ***** as her pen.
(m) **** a+b raised to the power of 2 when a woman is powerful than any numbers written in math textbooks.
(a) let's set aside fuckery and solve the mystery of how queen elizabeth built an empire without a king.
(m) _____(let's leave this blank, for a woman is a mysterious poetry.)

4. a woman is a poetry, add or reduce her stanzas and she will still remain as poetry.

(a poem in Senryus)

You don’t have to count,
when you lose a boyfriend, you
know. There was just one.

He was gone before
I knew it - he wasn’t, you know,
******* or anything.

For a moment I
toy with saying, “Alexa, add
rope to my shopping list."

In High School boyfriends
come and go - it's like shopping
- where you return things.

Per-iety given at prices
Left some pleading
Outrages. Sorted out of the fraction
Impacted esteem-edly
Presence of a implemented higher order
Of infernal representatives
Pulling the heart string of this
Is it you? Is it me?
Seeing isn’t really the hope to distinguish
Or figure these dream referrals
Quoting back to notations
Burnt upon a whim of superiority
Longed for to study past civilizations
Of the occurrences established in that dormancy
Of the optimal credential
Rerolling the formula to reduce onward
Continue with the answer
Now newly numerated
Mother of the order coming over
Exploding to the sorting, reworking

Sleep ran away with the sheep
It Made me wonder how I messed up counting
Now it’s 2 am and I’m struggling with the math
Adding in distractions
As the hours subtract
I wish I was back in class
All I did was sleep then If only I could do that now
Maybe I need to be laying on a note book and pencil
While I listen to some old person *****
that ill need to know this
You know Thinking about it tho ain’t that some ****
School couldn’t even teach me how to sleep
Yet they try to value
the weight of your dreams