There is a harsh beauty in mathematics.
Under curves and over slopes,
Equations rise and fall endlessly
In a perfectly measured void.
Optimized, rationalized, sterilized;
Formulas that never lie,
Theorems looming before us
Like an archaic God,
A golden deity whose
Volume is maximized.
How I dream of drifting in this flux,
Concave up and concave down,
Riding the sign of my second derivative
For positive and negative,
For better and worse.
I would not travel alone;
With C by my side,
Friend, ally, brother,
Always paired with my antiderivative,
For whenever we journey back
Into the past, it is necessary
To have a companion to pull us out again
In case we are unsure of where we started.
Rules and laws
Strict organization, control;
There is a harsh beauty in mathematics.
Order; two plus two is always four.
Sines and cosines and theta
All dancing in the unit circle of life,
A conga line that joins itself
To form a mathematical ouroboros.
But the harshest of the harsh beauties
Presented in this Divine Subject
Is that though there is an infinite capacity
For positivity and growth,
So too is there the possibility of stretching
Endlessly towards negativity forever.
However, it is much more terrifying
To lie in the middle;
To be undefined, unknowable, and to add
Or subtract to no effect;
The most fear inducing, mysterious, and gorgeous number
Of zero; nothing yet something,
Infinite yet not,
The most grand of all contradictions.
A hole; a jump; a discontinuity,
Easily removed from life and smoothed out
If you just apply the formulas.
Graphs and coordinates, integers and ordered pairs,
Is that not what life is?
We live within the grandest equation,
Each our own variable,
Constantly solving for ourselves
With the harsh beauties of mathematics.

i am to a  tangent function  arc of circumference real
the magnitude of the perimeter of my  reflecting rays cut through
the diameter of periodically functioning perimeters the sines
crosses over the ***** into asymptotes horizontally questions
arise what may be the derivative of the product of two less functional
****-ups?
In a piece-wise functional reality might it be weird to ask ?
I fall through the condition no binary operative am I or will allow,
I decipher here, the quantities quality. I coordinate this graph draft it to my reality, cipher the x y
approach thereby a tangent to infinity here now,
then on a point between the average *****, in my defined interval,there is a point where it all is irrelevant

You are temperate
kisses on frost-chilled windows.
The fragrant evergreen and pine,
the delicate rasping of wine
against velvet throats. You are thicket-
carpeted tongue where settled
crumbs of honey-lathered toast,
burnt, crisp, crumbly, spongy,
unlike your walls. The changing of
locks, the changing of keys might
not be a good way to spend time;
they’re blind to sines, your shimmering
solar attic-roof, your gauntlet garden,
your haunted keep. You are beautiful in ways
most men can’t discern, be careful
who you let in, and in turn,
be careful who you let
return.

The way her bones glitter:
it is rather beautiful
The way she sines
The way she LIGHTS up this world around me
Inside each bone of her thousands of stars burning themselves to shine
To bring the hidden beauty out of her
She glitters everything around her

we can say without inhibitions: the english novel, the russian novel, the french novel... akin to the german thought, the polish thought; we really can't say: the english thought, the russian, the french thought... we can only say the german thought, the polish thought... i'm already frolicking in censorship... but that's how it is: the english / russian / french novel v. the german thought the anti-novel; perhaps even music.

they allowed trans-gender,
but **** me bubbly bumblebee
they will not allow
trans-profession anti-gender
stereotype, they'll keep on
feeding me humanism
by those educated in english literature
and not those educated in
physics or etc. boors and crass
willing to suddenly experience
a need for change... educating people
to write books... i'd stick
to educating people to write
journalistic columns, the times of
Tolstoy are dead, no one has the time
for blah blah poetic technique blah blah;
why?
we're missing the bored girls at leisure
in salons,
instead over-sexed girls in limousines
(anti-dyslexia: spelling a grapheme e.g. æ
is like watching multiples of
donkey and carrot arrangements
distributed via images of photo-sensitivity /
phonetic-sensitivity, like
admiring the excesses of *******
and censoring the words f*k).

It was the low point to my life;
The vertex to that concave up.
I stayed there for the longest time -
Nothing to bring me back to the top.
Then you came with your kinetic energy
And scooped me up as you made your way-
It was like I was set to boiling point
But you came and turned off the power.
I should have know what came next
I’ve seen all the sines in every situation-
We were coasting though the waves
And you left me once we got to the trough.
A part of me waits for your return
Even if it’s just to turn the boiler back on

I've lost the burning in my fingers,
The spark within my soul,
The light in my eyes that lingers,
When a fire ravishes me whole.

My words have been driven away,
Replaced by derivatives and sines,
My erratic thinking and impulsive way,
Ridiculed by logical lines.

Slowly, my mind has been eroded,
Pounded, molded and reformed,
Until my eyes are totally blanked,
And my essence is forever lost.

For now my pen no longer moves,
In hurried chicken scratch,
But rather, in uniformed loops,
Making a perfect black stitch.

One does not consider maths
or trigonometry when ordering
bread. There are no sines, co-sines
or tangents. It is as simple as ABC,
one would imagine, three ingredients,
flour, yeast and water.

Yet, Salvador Dali said that the two
greatest art forms, are architecture
and bread baking.

Next time you purchase a loaf (from
a propper bakery, not supermarket)
pause for a moment and bring to mind
what you consider to be the greatest feat
of designed construction, then butter it.

I love her trigonometry,
the luminous sines and cosines,
tangents and cotangents glowing
in a heart of paradise, thrilling
triangles stretching into incredible
symmetry and dazzling angles,
her attraction a fascinating formula
building the bridge of my existence
into electrifying horizons.  She is
my secant of passion, cosecant
of stimulating similes, reciprocal
romance functioning on trigonometric
waves, the unit circle of her creation
a dynamic graph sketched on my abs,
a dynamic identity giving me an
intoxicating rush, her curriculum
so gratifying and stunning, her hypotenuse
a hypnotic harbor gleaming inside my heart.

Flamed. Blood-stained.  Chained. Brain-dead.
Strange hallucinations crowding my intellect,
magnifying into insane extremes, drunken divisions,
sunken subtraction minus the double negatives
multiplied by limits with no value.  Insecure,
inestimable fears flowing, floating, exploding,
eroding, crushing the sines and cosines of my design,
the broken tangents and cotangents, twisted triangles
and amber angles with no even degrees.  Everything
was unclear to me as I gazed at the restless streets
outside my scratchy and shadowed window,
the swelling trees shivering with no leaves to
console them in the cold breeze, the stoplights
flickering without pause, collapsed sideways
and conjunctions, junctions with no function,
my mind burning out the more I attempted
to unriddled the complex equation.  But everything
was zooming in my direction, crashing in fragmented
pieces, the rough-scarred buildings, the bruised
trees spinning into parked vehicles, the watercolor
scene becoming a blurred painting with no
meaning, deep hues of crimson red and blackness
filling me with sadness and madness, the passion
in my poetry splashing in tidal waves of unpleasant
depictions and dreams, diminishing fiction and
nonfiction, squeezing syllables timed out with no flight,
no light blinded by shadowed outlines of smoked love.
And I tried to hold my breath, but the burning smell
was carrying me into incomparable realities, massive,
my flesh painfully trembling, feeling electric and unsteady,
a mistaken algorithm, a lost logarithm, a dying, starving
ocean, a farsighted existence wandering in shame,
homeless, expressionless, depression driving me
into stormy depths, slapped, slipping backward,
trapped, dragged in wronged winds, pounding vibrations
flooding my vessels with wrecked literature and misspelled
letters. I was alone, rattled up, choking on negative notes,
hard and raw verbs, unrecognizable thoughts shot,
murdered moments, dizzy vision, hands slit, ripped,
chests screaming, ******, programmed, hammered
into upturned and useless paragraphs.

If I was to come to you so willingly
and proclaimed my love to you,
would you let me inside your time?
Let our flesh become mesmerized
by the touch, our nakedness so perfectly
immortalized on the canvas of our handsomeness.
Let our mouths meet and multiply,
subtract the stress, and add the best
****** climaxes advancing from midnight
to daybreak, taking us into another round.
Let our eyes derive the divine diction from within,
let the sines and cosines of our lives
intertwine with the tangents and cotangents
to produce a colossal of trigonometric equations.
Let our souls dive into each other
and navigate the landscape to immense worlds,
to be in unity every night, imbued with sparkling
poetry and songs, the saxophones and trombones
shouldering us home to sheer enchantment.

I want to live in the Calculus world where
the limits, derivatives, and integration
flow through my vessel, all spectacular
illuminations calling me away into towering
territories, immense pages beyond heightened
stages, prolific equations bursting into spinning
extremes, stunning infinity, immeasurable
calculations crowding my brain, taking me
into creative mazes.  Heavenly platforms packed
with differential applications and complex
functions running through my veins, as I
somersault in time across scintillating *****
fields, geometry, logarithms, and trigonometry,
my eyes falling into the depths of pure greatness,
drumbeating magic, drums that resonate
with my soul.  Glorious intellect burning
through the chambers of my core, moving
me like ravishing rivers, like slow love songs.
I’m in love with solving the endless equations
of time, the critical problems mixing
grand mountains with my luminous
kingdom, fine instruments, gigantic
bridge and boulevards surfacing vast
nations.  Sleek electrifying derivatives
a moonlit machine of a billion appetizing
fascinations, dream gardens full of sines
and cosines, tangents and cotangents,
a legacy of integrals painting magnificent
murals across my chests, all perfectly
synchronized, aligned with the stars,
parallel worlds of intricate themes
and bright beams, shimmery stages
gravitating towards a huge selection
of constellations, everything taking
me deeper and further into the dynasty
of Calculus.

I found love inside your soul
beautiful melodies filling the landscape,
creating earthbound equations and new escapes,
slick subjects rising in boundless light,
subsequent sentences so radiant and smooth sailing,
your brilliant jazz a repetition of rocking beats
jamming the boulevard.  Your frequency was
essential to my deliverance, pure affectionate
diction bringing me into the classic inventions
within your profound pathway, illuminating flow
and divine lyrics trailing the shimmering streets
inside your flight.  The exhilarating exclamations
igniting prolific passion and satisfaction
in your halo of angelic lands, sheer signs
of grand romance, breathtaking sines and cosines
swirling around the upbeat trees and leaves within
your cool breeze, tangents and cotangents inhaling
**** glitter from your melanin flesh.  Immense art
and glory writing their existence in your riveting
rivers of spectacular magic, implementing new
and innovative ideas, painting crystal bright walls
an array of hues, iridescent derivatives, moonlit
cadence perfectly orbiting your sleek canvas.
I’m in love with various paragraphs, how the lines
shine in my brown eyes, how the letters
fill my mind with astonishing designs, the countless
pages so amazing and creative, the heading a rich
fulfilling destination, theme fonts so thrilling,
drawing me closer into your elegant craft.

The overhead cables form
geometric patterns as they
tangent off into vanishing
points of sines and cosines.

Occasionally we have crows
on the hypothenuse which
are equal to the sum of the
starlings on the opposite sides.

(april 2020)

..it is day 38..

the numbers are not existing no more
just marks on paper and my brain explodes

we remember logarithms, sines and cosines

tables & music notes that melted away into

no understanding
whatsoever

yesterday cleared and we found a place to
read in the greenhouse
i was not prepared
not a good gardener
which means that i am not a good person
for it seems the lockdown law that all must
have plants and make fresh bread

the little house is tidy and painted now
she brought me the chair in secret now
she puts her life out there
on the ambulance so i

sit there and read
worry for her and
all the others for

all the good that worry does

later i drew all neat and precise
like as if that was important or
something
after hours
i did smudgy
and it much improved my situation

later up the house i found that we danced to the same music
yesterday



samba

I think of you, and I’m overcome with boundless happiness,
giving into the astonishing aroma coming from your body,
so addictively powerful like amazing Apollo, shooting sparks
of immeasurable love in me like the glowing goddess Aphrodite,
keeping me so close to you, under your golden and angelic wings,
holding me so comfortably, my feelings all over the place,
so lost in your eternal flame, everything so strange as I drift
further into your great escape, crazy vibrations streaming
through my veins, visualizing the way you smile, how you
infect my mind with your powerful design, your unpredictable
rhymes so hypnotizing, intensifying, the lines and signs so divine.

Your solid swagger flexes in my system so smoothy and sensually,
so interestingly and poetically, telling me that you are the right one
for me, a man of many masterworks, a man that makes me feel
so close to your home, right in your arms, no need to call you
on my cellphone, because you are always with me, always
on time, always shining in my heart, a spark of passion tempting
me your youthful, rich, and lean physique, to embrace the glorious
trails of your waist, my mouth gliding up your chiseled abs,
manly chests, and sensational neck, taking in all the intriguing
tattoos covering your fully fecund flesh, treasuring every area,
everywhere that I stare so carefully created, so perfectly pleasing,
serving me its mountains of magnetic magic, spectacular angles
and triangles, the sines so sublime, flying so high inside your
cosines of handsomeness, the geometrical gleam, the
trigonometrical thrill so real as I seep inside the endless
derivatives of your tremendous instrument, overtaken
by your huge and electrifying wave.

You are a spectacular melanin man
Full of supreme inventions
Exhilarating equations
Immense intelligence
Amazing square roots of life
Multiplying with the waves of time
To create a marvelous bright light

Your skin is rich and beautiful
A derivative of pure poetry
Soaked in blacknificence
Sines of enlightenment
Cosines of rising self-love
The geometry of your heart
A sparkling array of heavenly shapes

You are the tangent of infinite dreams
The cotangent of exuberant rhythms
Exploding with breathtaking beats
Divine mind coinciding with the riveting rivers
Creating greatness across the nation