"ratio" poems
Zero is enduring
zero is deathless.
Nothing is up to it
none can mirror it
though forever
it's an open case.
The eyes are yet to
see an open face!
Because like it's
nothing is in perfect shape
purely a perfect circle!
Nothing matches it
as like Fathima is none else!
Ever more sprawling pi decimals
never go unnoticed propelling
to the end surge before her.
Before the original one
Fathima is yet to be mirrored.
All the planets turn circular
before the unseen perfect circle.
Fathima nails it snapped it up
circled it with her hair!
Before the furthest sighted eyes,
the dot at the earth's centre
at its pool of primitive water.
Fathima embeds in a loop of her hair
thus supercharges the water!
It finds the cut, the golden ratio,
constant continuity in her hair's inner flow.
And the Big Bang happened
there, their breakthrough!
The potential worlds to be
from the first drop of water
she gets them all buzzed out.
From down the rock bottom,
from the zero null
Fathima finds and raises the sun!
Nothing is comparable to it on the ground
nor up on the high, we only see the fire
of a heavenly phenomenon is beyond the sight!
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 12:06 AM UTC
Is there an order?
In there an approximation of pi
circling our first awkward flirtations?
Does a dragon curve lurk hidden as I
caress the curvature of your spine?
Where does Euclidean geometry fit in to the
first time our lips met?
Does the Pythagorean theorem detail our most intimate
love making?
A quadratic formula for the shameful
discarding of punched in picture frames?
Is there a golden ratio that best expresses
hurried apologies and frantic entanglements
between our sheets?
I know for certain there was
a simple subtraction
on the day your tears added up everything
and finally said goodbye.
Some would say there is order in this
chaos disguised as order disguised as
chaos
Continually debating pattern recognition
or butterfly effects
But I’d like to think
We were more subtle than that
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 6:00 PM UTC
Come whichever way it is your choice
Choose your way as you please.
The ground is laid down beneath you
All around smooth simply a polished circle
once you're in you are covered you won’t lose.
Just as the sun never misses, is spot on!
At the end of the day escapes into the dark
mixes and rolls in the shadow of the moon.
A light in the dark, a straight line in curve
does its dance and bounce.
Tests and retests the golden ratio
shining at the sunrise angle.
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 11:25 PM UTC
Remembrances of you remain
In the farthest reaches of my mind.
But I do not know why I cannot refrain,
The reason that you stay on my mind, I cannot find.
You're even in my subconscious...
At night, you cloud all of my dreams.
And I still find myself singing your songs while I'm conscious,
I am still not over you, it seems.
Somehow all I can hear is your voice,
When I hear a song you like on the radio.
You've taken up a greater part of my life than anyone has, without a choice,
An unbalanced ratio.
I will always love you,
Infinitely until I find one that can replace...
But you are you, and it still stands true,
That in a crowded room, I see no other face.
I hope you, without condition, love me,
As I have hurt you as well.
I hate to see you hurt, especially by the cause of me...
As I have always wished you well.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 9:32 PM UTC
At a very small age, much too young
to know what a true love felt like,
I learned that I’d never be the
special girl in your life.
I could see from the distance already
wedged between us that there would
always be a much larger section
of your heart that I’d never be
good enough to fill.
I was only a very small part of
your world, taking up a tiny section
of your heart like a sliver wedged
deep inside the membrane of your
greatest ***** like a paper cut to the
side of your finger; so small just to push
aside but too much pain to forget completely.
I was the mistake you were trying to
move on from, to put behind you,
to forget about me as if I never existed.
Even from a modest age, I knew how
to long after a man who barely knew that
I belonged to him.
You were out of my league;
in a total different game.
I could hang on to someone like they were
the air I needed inside my lungs to breathe.
But you only ever wanted to be let go.
Oxygen is nothing that I’ll ever be able to touch.
You taught me what it meant to be temporary
before I would ever know what commitment was
and I learned soon enough that
they didn’t mean the same thing.
I tried and I tried and I tried
to be your girl.
I experienced my first broken heart
when you asked her to marry you.
We never had a relationship
but she became the wedge between
our potential friendship.
I learned what heartbreak felt like by a
man who said he loved me but had
the strangest way of showing it.
I learned that actions spoke louder than words
but sometimes actions didn’t speak at all.
I learned to never believe the truth
because you’d taught me how good a lie
felt within my ears;
like the harmony of an orchestra whose
conductor was blind to the instruments
being played in front of him.
We’ve never known harmony;
always out of tune,
I hated the sound of music.
I loved fairytales but hated Cinderella
and the reality that she brought to my life.
Blood wasn’t thicker;
It meant nothing to be related biologically
when romantic love came into play.
From a young age, I learned the world
was a cruel and unfair place
and I had to fight from my
corner of the ring by myself.
I learned what favoritism meant
and not because you chose me.
I learned temporary,
but never knew commitment.
The ratio of lies to truths was far greater.
After knowing distance,
I knew how to be cautious.
After you broke my heart,
I learned hate.
I knew how it felt to hate before
I would ever know how to love.
I knew it like the back of my hand;
more than I could ever know you.
But it’s time I taught myself something
so I’m learning forgiveness.
I forgive you,
for not knowing what it means
to be a father.
I forgive you for never choosing me
and for always picking her.
I tried and I tried and I tried
to be daddy’s girl,
but you never allowed me that privilege
and your heart was never large enough
for both of us,
so I forgive you for loving her more;
I forgive you for being my dad.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC
In this trigonometric love equation
You're my arcsin,
You're my special angle,
Secretly placed
In that unit circle of feelings.
You may arrange my major arcs and diameters
Inside of it
Perfectly triangular,
Love will always have
The same ratio pi.
Our equation of love
Is seemingly incompatible.
It has philosophical numbers becoming
Common geometric shapes
Of love itself
Like hidden spheres
In triangles,
But in real terms of graphing
Our parallel lines of life
Went on forever not crossing at any point
Of this imperfect world.
Our love is, in fact,
A complex system of equations
With the same set of three unknowns
Searching their own values
It has a narrative statement.
You're my C.
You're mister C,
From c'telzing
From caleptikide
And from cataguerrillaism,
In this beautiful madness of love.
You know, our love is getting old
In concentric circles,
Those circles of time.
Extrapolate it to infinity, sweetheart,
You may be my semi-infinity
Until the end of the time,
That semi-infinity,
In which I lose myself
From time to time
Each time coming
From the same unique star
As that already existent
In an old Romanian novel,
Which is called
Lorelei.
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 1:47 PM UTC
so, with israel being re-established...
why do we, us,hit
europeans... even need to bother
establishing authority,
utilißing the new testament?
i quiete like the old testament
logic of:
oculus per oculus
(eye for an eye)...
because the saxon concept of
justice: i rather see...
the implosion of
blackstone's formulation...
the 10:1 imploding to the 1:10
ratio of...
a shawshank redemption...
there is... redemption...
since! there's no justice within
the post scriptum of
the hillsborough disaster...
watching people walk, the lunatic walk,
20 years later?
disorientated by the court
of justice?
re-dem-ption...
the whole aspect of: innocent until proven
guilty is horrid!
this... saxon vernacular of
that branch of philosophy that's
bogus...
namely... within origins
of the forbidden fruit...
i.e. and you know?!
really?!
no... but i'll **** to make
a standing pivot of a pawn
on a chess-board.
savvy?
who, among the europeans...
actually needs such artifacts
as new testament texts, credo,
orthodoxy, sign of the cross
greek exports?
the state of israel has
been re-established...
i don't want anything to do
with this judeo-grecian banality...
you can have you little affair over
n
e w
s...
don't worry... i'll make sure that i'm
watching... people tell a lie...
yeah: hum hum bubbly hum-hum...
am i, or are there any arizona
inbreds?
who, the hell, needs, the news testament,
within the confines of history,
dispossessing europe of it,
of an established jewish state?
one book among many...
hence the scent of a yawn...
when entering a library...
i'll do one gesture, and one gesture
alone... inclined to a replica...
ecce libra!
i wash my hands from
having any investment in it.
**** the greeks can have it...
they can keep it, cherish it,
but they better not spaghetti the old testament
with their... "ingenious" plot...
not when the nag hammadi library
emerged...
no... not now... not ever...
i detest this greek book of overt
symbolism...
their pristine alphabet,
their diacritical application,
with the pseudo-romans toying with: deaf...
or blind... whichever it is...
sandpaper... instead of a kangaroo pouch...
of inflated... soft... flesh?
i'll rip your heart out
and feed it to my neighbour's dog,
beside a bowl of water.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 8:32 PM UTC
The light tail of the tail light leaves me blue in the dark hues
… when it carries away what I belong to…
Unfolding the tar-black sky of asphalt, the longest arm of missing you…
My body is now the distance between us, big and empty,
The bigger, the emptier, thinner than air…
As time piles up, my ladders turn into pointless meters
Measuring the ratio of nothing in everything
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 7:54 AM UTC
Math
Numbers
The only things everyone
And everything have in common
You can find mathematical proofs written
In between the stars
Numerical sequences hiding beneath a fern
That unfurls to reach the heavens
No one can deny, one will always equal one
And the sum of two numbers will never change
Truths remain truths no matter the language
I can't see how my friends can say 'I hate math'
Or how people say 'numbers are stupid'
Numbers and math comprise the essence of life
On another planet the number pi and
Sierpinski's triangle may have different names
But their rules remain the same
Math and numbers make up geometry
Which is full of tesselations, and fractals
And beautiful diagrams and principles
How can you not love something like the
Golden Ratio, or the Fibonacci sequence?
They provide the curl of a fern, the twist of
A snail's shell, the spiral of a pineapple
And rotation of axial leaves
Such a beautiful, never changing system
That appears in so so many forms
Why be bored when you can play with fractal-y
Tesselating doodles?
And don't even get me started on science...
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 3:03 PM UTC
I work for the machine
that bashes bastardized beauty
into the face of the masses
The status quo
of oppressing the Goddess
to some golden ratio
of ***** perfection
"We set the standards, baby"
An arrogance of man,
A battle born in blood
objectifying some sacred symbol,
The cosmic ****
we all crawled out of
as star dust
The holy hole
to heaven on Earth
Gaia taken advantage of
Rejecting the gift of consciousness
We'll de-evolve
like past-life regressions
like we're so self-entitled to
come back around
Among the cosmos
cradled in the crescent
Deny yourself the mystique of the feminine
The clashing of the anima and animus
The syzergy of
the sun
the moon
and us
Call on your angels
And submit to the psychosis
My brothers,
These are our
sisters and mothers
They don't want to castrate
The ******* symbol
Destroy the alpha male
And the omega oppression
The beginning and the end of
**** shaming
I worked for the
misogyny machinery of Moloch
My heart no longer beats here
It just bleeds for her.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 9:13 AM UTC
.simone biles (the gymnast)...
miles davis (the trumpet guy)...
must be black privilege;
wasn't there a movie...
starring
woody harrelson
and wesley snipes?
you sure?
i thought it was
called: white men can't jump...
sure as **** ****** can
sing church gospel!
how's that for
privilege?
if you're going to
culturally box, and repeatedly
punch below the belt...
you're quiet likely going
to get a reaction...
i have an acne wart growing
on my *** the size
of a cauliflower,
it's itchy my brain,
it's differentiating between
agitate and: lying back...
i guess the excess of...
look... you may have
the excess melanin...
i have lactose tolerance...
we're even?!
no?
so how come some smurf,
some European hobbit
shackle your N.B.A.
Goliath(s)?!
explain that one to me...
if these people were so
cock-unsure...
how they **** did they
tame the Zulu Apache Goliath
bodybuilders?!
what the ****
i already said, and it was proven...
IQ...
i don't like it...
but i'm pretty sure that
the whites **** more people
in terrorist attacks than...
camel-jockeys...
it took 3 or over three...
to perform the Bataclan Massacre...
three... the third of the IQ
that required a Breivik...
130 in France...
dissociated among 3 attackers
that gorged on testicles after the spree...
fun, fun fun fun...
like: you're trying to say that without
irony...
and how many in Norway?
77...
i only look at the IQ of killers...
so... what's the ratio?
77 / 1
130 / 3 = 43...
like i said... low IQ...
you really want your little
racial insurrection?
you'll have it, don't worry..
i'll just the narrative...
must be black privy...
if you can mash up a jazz compos.,
right?
crackers read from
a prepared script...
you ******* just, "improvise"...
rapping contra talking...
**** come to think of it...
******* boys took it too far from
your Oreos...
like... too much drums...
not enough wind, or strings...
too much drumming...
pulverizing the ears
with drum & bass and what not...
if i wasn't deaf prior,
i'm deaf by now;
******* boy to Oreo woo-oo-oops
boy;
same **** different cover.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 9:42 PM UTC
I've been thinking and reading a lot recently
People who claim to be enlighten
Are not really enlighten because
Enlightenment is about being one with everything
Enlightenment is seen as knowledge & awareness
I guess the “spiritual people” lack an understanding
Of duality
That life is based on good & bad
Enlightenment and being one with everything is accepting
Both the horrors & wonders of Life
Thus creating balance, which is now “being one with everything”
Instead of waving sacred geometry as the all knowing thing
Or bragging about, “I know the Fibonacci sequence & the golden ratio”
Don’t get me wrong! I enjoy reading about spirituality, sacred geometry, and other marvelous topics
Nor am I bashing people’s beliefs
I just see people misinterpreting the message
A great and funny example that had me thinking was what Palpatine/ Darth Sidious from Star Wars Episode III revenge of the Sith said.
“Anakin, if one is to understand “the great mystery” one must study all its aspects, not just the dogmatic narrow view of the Jedi. If you wish to become a complete and wise leader, you must embrace a larger view of the force.”
That principle revolves around the same idea as being enlighten & being one with everything
If someone was to become “enlighten” he or she has to face the trials of learning to love and also embracing that there is a horror that lurks around us that we are oblivious to see.
I think once someone see’s both sides of the picture is when someone becomes “enlighten”
Because they understand how both sides work
Enlighten --> duality --> balance
This is how I just view the topic of enlightenment
You don’t have to believe what I wrote
I could be wrong
This was merely me ranting and expressing what I feel lol
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
Like this if you see it.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:41 AM UTC
Of all the matter that we can see,
And of more that is dark instead,
Where light loses its fight, Endlessly,
Bound to and of itself until it bleeds,
And for its blood this light shines red,
Of all the matter that we can know,
And of the rest that goes untouched,
Does here atop what is not yet below,
By where right goes furthest; and yet left more so,
That to a life a thought can clutch,
Four percent of all that there is,
Only four percent of it all,
Is made of what lets life live,
Is made of the tangible clues that it gives,
And the ratio thereafter is small,
A family now resides here,
Together, equally, crowded, alone,
Sailing through the air,
Never sure and unprepared,
It's good to see you, Welcome Home,
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 11:21 PM UTC
It tastes sour in my skin
The water diverts his eyes upon the curves
I rub them with my fingernails
The tips cried for disturbance.
The pebbled stones in purity
Spit out their dirt with every moist
The need to exhale the longing days
The desolation of their own race.
It stinks with the cover of my skin
No vinegar to pour on the occuring reds
No tablet nor capsule to jive the tummy
There, I'll groove with the ratio of water.
I left the leaves on the dirt
And yes, those gravel and mated things in the sack
Alone am I, here in my own nest
Watching the faded stars and grasping the air.
Neither can I reach the ultimatum
The shutters in me were all aware and trained
The body in rest be put in silence
For the war of itch diverts the angle.
(6/13/14 @xirlleelang)
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
I balance
Rotating and fixed
Upright
Suspended freely
Compelling insight
Keeps me
Remaining right side up
As I revolve in this life
Breaking the chains of
Weak slavery in my
Self created habits
I reconstruct the wheel
To appeal in an
Exercise of wisdom
Within the universal
Kingdom of resurrected
Light
I am certain to follow
My soul path as I journey
Deeper into my heart
For what I believe
Controlled not by
Useless desires
Destroyed not
By grief
Rising
Eyes wide open
In relief
I choose my trials wisely
From this moment on
I choose to learn
For the last time
Trials that no longer
Promise to teach me
Anything more
In a golden ratio
Of vibrating love
I engage the power
Of every beacon
Every tower
Resilient to
Shine
I choose to learn
For the last time
Trials that no longer
Teach me
Divine
Mental powers expanding
My cup of realization
Has the capacity
To hold an ocean
Of understanding
Awareness enlightening
Brightening knowledge
Surrounding me
In footfalls
Of cascading
Arms and light
Day and night
Day and night
I smile the indestructible smile
Within this ferris wheel
I balance
Rotating and fixed
Upright
Suspended freely
Compelling insight
Keeps me
Remaining right side up
As I revolve in this life
The milky serpents of stars above
Reveal a code of comprehension
For earth and celestial
Apprehension
A blinding
A blurring
Elements stirring
Strength
Great works of
Perseverance unfold
The beating sky beholds
An invitation opening
Beyond the gates of
Heaven and hell
Intertwined
Break the
Shell
You are the master
Of your ferris wheel
tHE tERRY tREE
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 3:34 AM UTC
"The number Pi is a mathematical constant, the ratio of a circles circumference to its diameter is commonly approximated as 3.145159. Being an irrational number, pi cannot be expressed exactly as a common fraction. Consequently, it's decimal representation (22/7) never ends and never settles into a permanent repeating pattern", He told the girl sitting next to her.
"You like math I see", she chuckled.
"No, not exactly", he sighs
"I'm trying to tell you something, what I feel for you cannot be expressed properly, it's like pi, what I feel is deep and never ends, it doesn't settle to a repeating pattern because each day it changes and becomes something stronger", He looks straight into her eyes.
"Since Ancient civilisation, mathematicians have been trying to find the ending of pi but they only ended at about a thousand numbers. Then in the 21st century Computer scientist decided to give it a try, but they ended at 13.3 trillion before they exhausted their computers", The boy took a deep breath and started to play with his fingers
"Chances are a lot of people will try to figure out how I feel about you, myself included but no matter how hard I try it'll always go deep, it's infinite because I am irrevocably In Love with you"
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
The blue of my deep ocean
my sunrise at dawn
the red of my rose.
My fiery beauty in the gentle breeze
My evergreen earth and missing heaven
on the other side of the wood
My golden old, present of now
and future fairytale
The song of my nightingale.
The colours of my day
lapis lazuli hue of my sky.
My graceful white cloud
over the rainbow
My serene night in the shadow.
My golden ratio design
My solemn rise for the star
over the hashed twilight hill
when the day is done!
My love of life
My joy my patience
My secret made for heaven.
My Sun at the peak and my Moon
on the other side of the pool.
My homemaker above the storm
My fluid innermost.
Aug 28, 2019
Aug 28, 2019 at 10:38 AM UTC
I imagine a biological plant,
I reach for It but can't touch It beacuse It's only my imagination.
I picture the same plant and reach to grab it but this time It's in 2D.
Now I am holding the plant. I can see and feel It got many features trying to prove itself being realistic but
It got no smell, no dirt, no life. It's just a prop.
Unlike your plant..
I can feel the warmth, the edgy imperfections, the good intentions of your plant.
I can see the healthy strains, the perfect ratio, the water flowing through your plant.
I can smell the unique aroma, the soul essence, natures soil all over your plant.
So I inject my plant with drugs, steriods and testoserone to match yours.
Look at my plant now world!
- Its just GMO'd.
Trying to be real made my plant more fake than It ever was.
How am I supposed to spread my seeds when my plant is so dysfunctional?
It would only create more confused and broken plants and eventually the world would be destroyed.
"Evolution could only come after a revolution"
Is a quote stuck in my brain.
Should I let my plant rot for the better
or should I keep watering It hoping for the best?
I really dont know anymore.
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 12:53 PM UTC
Music is my Deity
and so benevolent is it!
A mystical Tapestry
woven upon Silence and across Time,
what about that is not Divine?
Music doesn't divide, it unites.
It attracts expressive minds, creative minds, empathic minds, logical minds.
It creates an abstract temporal psychosocial middle-ground;
You don't have to be a virtuoso
to drum along or dance or vocalize.
You don't have to be a virtuoso
for practice to reap it's rewards.
We speak with Music:
Language is a Musical thing;
it employs Rhythm and Pitch and works through Time.
Music is a Linguistic thing;
it communicates things that otherwise cannot be said
while also having room for Language itself.
Music is no singular aspect;
Music is not defined by medium,
nor is it defined by orchestration.
Music is wholly Abstract,
relating only back to itself.
Music is defined by context;
Music is a matter of perspective.
Footsteps are music, in 2/4 time.
Heartbeats are music, in 3/4 time; this defines "swing" feel.
A Clock is music, in 1/1 time at 60 beats per minute.
A year is music, in 365.25/1 time at 1 beat per day.
The duration of the Moon's orbital period and Day are a Unison; 1:1.
The four Galilean moons of Jupiter orbit with the resonance of Octaves; 2:1 ratios of wavelength.
The ratio of the lengths of Mercury's Year to it's Day is nearly a Perfect Fifth; 3:2.
Music is implicit.
Music is mystical.
Music is a Metaphor manifest,
for the nature of the Universe;
even the very word "Universe"
means "The One Song".
Music is truly intrinsic;
I am a Shaman of Music.
It is an Honor.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 2:03 PM UTC
Why I’m not “All About that Bass”
So I’m in my car cruising down i-49
When I hear a song with a kickin-baseline
*I'm all about that bass,bout that bass no treble, i'm all about that bass
I'm bringing ***** back go ahead and tell them*
STOP
Excuse me?
When did ***** leave?
How did ***** get there?
Was ***** on vacation?
Where they at tho?
Yeah my moma she told me don’t worry about your size*
But not because in a patriarchal society I am valued for my ratio
Of hips to thighs as handle bars for my man to
“keep me grounded”
But because I was beautiful anyway
I am not the number sewn into society like the waistband of my jeans
I am the number of times I look into the mirror and say “hey ****
And if society is too lazy to know that beneath these eyes but above these hips
And behind this full chest theres a heart
Lets be real
Were not going to blame Meagan trainer
She probably didn’t even write this song
but why are we idolizing these who only look to sexulize the femaile body instead of holding us to
a higher standard
and just think
you are perfect, thank you pink
we can be stronger, thank you Kelly
And no matter what we are beautiful, thank you christina
Why aren't these the women we are idolizing?
Because according to hot 107.9 its all about the *****
I am not something you can put into a box something you can stereotype
Just because i have big thighs and a ***** to match doesn't mean i want it to be pointed out
or catcalled every chance there is.
my body your body everyones body is their own
and deserves to be treated like its own perfect stronger more beautiful self.
i am strong
i am perfect
i am beautiful
my hips don't belong to you
my ***** does not belong to you
i do not belong to you
And thats why im not all about that bass
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
After comparing lives with you for years
I see how I’ve been losing: all the while
I’ve met a different gauge of girl from yours.
Grant that, and all the rest makes sense as well:
My mortification at your pushovers,
Your mystification at my fecklessness—
Everything proves we play in separate leagues.
Before, I couldn’t credit your intrigues
Because I thought all girls the same, but yes,
You bag real birds, though they’re from alien covers.
Now I believe your staggering skirmishes
In train, tutorial and telephone booth,
The wife whose husband watched away matches
While she behaved so badly in a bath,
And all the rest who beckon from that world
Described on Sundays only, where to want
Is straightway to be wanted, seek to find,
And no one gets upset or seems to mind
At what you say to them, or what you don’t:
A world where all the nonsense is annulled,
And beauty is accepted slang for yes.
But equally, haven’t you noticed mine?
They have their world, not much compared with yours,
But where they work, and age, and put off men
By being unattractive, or too shy,
Or having morals—anyhow, none give in:
Some of them go quite rigid with disgust
At anything but marriage: that’s all lust
And so not worth considering; they begin
Fetching your hat, so that you have to lie
Till everything’s confused: you mine away
For months, both of you, till the collapse comes
Into remorse, tears, and wondering why
You ever start such boring barren games
—But there, don’t mind my saeva indignatio:
I’m happier now I’ve got things clear, although
It’s strange we never meet each other’s sort:
There should be equal chances, I’d’ve thought.
Must finish now. One day perhaps I’ll know
What makes you be so lucky in your ratio
—One of those ‘more things’, could it be? Horatio.
3k
scavenger bride,
she counted periods
before the children came along,
but never suspected
eyes like bottles
beginning to blue,
a tangle of scars
hermetically sealed,
the new order of
a broken romance,
dead love cassettes
in the glove compartment,
her cold and empty
constellations,
like cold breath
passing through a beam of sunlight,
grid of points, pendulums,
the ratio of freckles to stars,
no subtle countenance,
martinis and bikinis,
soft ******* and ice cream,
slight, elusive things, on a beach
with no more meaning,
the repeating pattern of
her mistakes and reliefs,
a preservation of decay,
sustained by the tiny
human fault line
in that oneiric hinterland,
between dreaming and waking,
she draws around the noise
and the clearings,
she creates within that sightline
the way her sadness can feel
comfortable,
an extension of loss that turns
her ruins into a home.
Aug 1, 2022
Aug 1, 2022 at 2:48 PM UTC
A man and wife go to lunch.
Premium burgers, shakes and fries.
It's cheap and he can wear his sweatpants.
For every one couple,
there's twenty single fathers
with his children.
(a depressing ratio)
It must be custody weekend.
At the Heartbreak Hotel
tables for two occupy singles.
The men picked out their best shirts
and the women painted their lips.
Looking only for a conversation,
they leave with a bill
priced with another Sunday
of shattered hope.
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 12:05 AM UTC
resuming textual trip
testing experimental procedures
visualizing model tsunami
augmenting facetious environment
catching abstract architecture
noticing rhythmic exchange
projecting subtextual database
airhorning reggae royalty
adding atypical party
resolving twitter question
noticing emotional mission
awaiting emotional dialect
installing metaphorical experiment
intensifying animated trip
displaying dynamic victory
programming abstract development
releasing emotional exchange
deriving fata morgana
glorifying referential sequence
intensifying facetious map
noticing harmonic trip
observing radical ratio
compiling nomadic message
predating google rebranding
reticulating facetious panda
using hyperreal feedback
exploring virtual panda
speculating graphic gallery
throwing mundane exception
targeting graphic experiment
replenishing emotional trap
localizing asemic animal
dropping rhythmic trip
propagating immortal experiment
displaying lowercase database
invading orange bubbles
crashing animated trip
running conceptual topography
remembering collapsed buildings
crashing hyperreal coverage
propagating hyperreal stipulation
finishing western library
envisioning neon tessellation
reciprocating network likes
processing animated device
releasing haptic quality
examining building seven
awaiting rhapsodical ratio
sampling death sauce
sensing lowercase clone
examining symbolic tour
processing potential development
encapsulating spatial lottery
displaying digital paragraph
reticulating theoretical source
perpetuating western paragraph
transmitting monochromatic structure
anticipating ambient quality
transmitting asemic environment
intensifying atomic quality
remastering history poem
keeping future light
hypothesizing eternal game
using future library
rearranging masonic language
transmitting masonic development
continuing ceremonial ritual
questioning party's legitimacy
deferring western coverage
finishing asemic hypertext
mollifying ostentatious presence
synthesizing allegorical icon
forming categorical unions
sketching app wireframe
programming immortal repository
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC