a glimpse of
what might have been:
the candle
and the blow

pacing the floor
mind filled with nighthawks
stomach with bitter pills

snow on the window sill
--the long winter
of our love

it comes out of the blue
like dead reckoning

thoughts of us
unfinished

a hand withdrawn
the final wager on goodbye

Seven lessons I've learned from math
1) we all will make mistakes but still
Hope you spoke in pencil
Because someone once said that words when spoken and hearts when broken are the hardest to repair
2) remember people as well as remember that one plus one is two
Because what meant so much to them could be little to you
Even if you flew by and continued a line on the plane of life
The mere point of tangency may have pulled them from strife
3) never judge a person on the outward complexity of their problems until you have factored completely
It is only when you have seen all the parts that understanding can come freely
4)no matter how far two numbers may seem the greatest common multiple with come
Even if it's one
5) its not a matter of whether or not your ti-84 can perform the task easier
Its if you can do it better
Because accuracy matters and there are many shortcuts to take
But be careful of the choices you make
6)you won't always be the best
or do good on the test
but don't let any of it make you forget the rest
Of the amazing things happening right underneath your nose
Because you will need help from time to time
So forget all the angles formulas and cosines
Just breath
Because not every part of life can be described in numbers or proofs or even words
Some just need to be lived
7) you can find a lesson in everything  
From books to a song you love to sing
From a sunrise to an unbeaten path
From butterflies or maybe even math

You’re leaving.
There was so much to be said.
Words, thoughts, feelings,
goodbyes.

The moment has passed—
too quickly—
but what should I do with unspoken words?
Where do they go?
They begin to lack vigor and tangency.

If thoughts could fly like birds,
then I would be watching mine approach the horizon
growing smaller
and smaller
and then
gone.

But they’re not gone--
just elsewhere.
Have they flown with the rising sun on their backs
to that place you’re fated to be?
Or am I erroneous to think as such?

Resting in the recess of my mind—
the lucre of a passive marauder—
these words remain
buried.

Life’s situations changed between acts.
Distance drew the curtains shut.
Intermission.
The curtain draws again—the characters altered.
I, the observer, surprised by the act’s new backdrop, notice
the players have matured.
Quickly, too—
but my view has not yet adapted
still remembering the beautiful set of life’s passed scenes.

Alas, the show must go on.

I thought this love of ours would be eternal

But darling, *we were just like Tangent Lines . . .








                                        . . . which were given the chance to meet once . . .






                                                          ­             . . . and then parted *forever

Portrayed in an artiface
Of long and grey rhymes
Replayed in a video
Of really bad lines
Lost in a tangency
Of bitumen and brick
Tangled in quagmire
Of cigarettes and sick.

Lurching through life
In yesterdays clothes,
Acting the part
That nobody knows,
Chic desperation
Apparent to all
With the certainty
She’s for a terrible fall.

Miasma of moods
Through a *****, blue haze,
Insulting a friend
In an instant of craze,
Sprawled on the street
In a leopard skin skirt,
Makeup awry
Broken nails in the dirt.

Screaming abuse
To the well meaning hand,
Lost, alone
In a drug ridden land,
Fearful of shadows
And clinging to those
Who lustfully use
To so casually dispose.

Blond hair falling
Down over her face
Mascara running
In smears of disgrace,
It’s dangerous to stagger
Through traffic in rain
With lost high heel,
Tear streaked in pain.

Vagrants for company
Hunched in a cell,
Shivering cold
And ****** to hell
In a moment of clarity
And startlingly clear,
A small shimmering hope
Lies so distantly near.


Marshalg
@theCoalface
Victoria Park Tunnel
8th May 2010

If a puzzle was his peer
and a parallelogram was his shirt
while his tangency threw his belt
where his shoes kept aground
and his step to rather George didn't tarnish him;
with the steeples in bay windows on near side of the street to worship a gathering of wisdom where he'd praise mackerels
and the president with a gray suit.

The ruins between my ribs held us static
We were parallel lines that were never coincidental,
A could-have-been intersection that ceased to draw itself
Just before the point of tangency.
You told me it was I who stopped pursuing you,
That it was I who fashioned these rusts in my own gears.
Apathy was my choice,
Until I saw the concern that lay beyond your hostile mask
That left me wanting for the unknown.

Contact: noun, \ˈkän-ˌtakt\
The apparent touching or mutual tangency of the limbs of two celestial bodies, or of the disk of one body with the shadow of another during an eclipse, transit, or occultation.

-Merriam Webster

Contact is so important.
And that's why if you can't contact me fully you won't contact me at all
And if I
Come closer
You push me away.
When all I want to do is send your soul a
Contact
A contact lens
In alignment with your eye
Your future comes into focus
And my love is blind
But you shut your eyes on it.

When I stand in front of your face
My lips receive your contact
As you speak sweet honey to me
Then slowly slip away

And I think
Did I reach the right number?
Or maybe I was just one of a number, for you
Because too many calls can cause static
When you've had more than one name on your contact list before mine
Or did I just not call at the right time?

Sorry I couldn't be in contact with you--
Not in the way she was
But I was making love in the REAL way a person does
Over long distance and over time
And you should know that I have been in contact, too
Every single breath I breathe, I breathe for you
And it affects the air current, and then the oceans, and the moon
You see
So when you see it, think of me
Because it is my message to you in the sky
My love written out loud in the stars.
When things get dark
I will always want to be the one to turn on the light for you
Feel the sunlight on your skin?
Well, that's my contact, too.
I’m shining, and I’m burning up my heart and soul for you…

But now my heart is broken
And my screen is cracked
And I seem to be unresponsive to contact
But the reality is that
If you want me,
You have to come and get me.
You have to be the one to touch me.
—and I want you to.
But I'm through fighting a one-sided battle just to lose
The most precious thing I had
Time and time again
Because I'll always lose it
If you don't choose to let me in.

I speak of your heart.

This distance separates us but is no different than
the wall of empty space that separates each atom, and
In fact, skin to skin is not even true contact.
So what makes life real?
Is it the contact between our bodies
Or our souls?
Now, this is the thing you’ll always have under your own control!

And that,
That is where it all comes right down to choice.
Because no matter how loud I make my voice
You have to choose me too.
And I’m another broken window who wants to hear
“I love you.”

I want to be swept up by love
And I want it to shake me, down to my soul
I want to be hugged so tight I’m left whole.
I want the light to penetrate my very being.
Two celestial bodies in perfect resonance
Enveloped in pure beauty up in the Heavens.

My love, what I want is the truest form of contact—

To drown in this love, and never look back.

A differential equation really tells me that reality can be examined by as many factors with as many changes over as many dimensions as imaginable.
And that orthogonality, tangency, surface area, and volume are basic orienting points, along with rates of change, and that I can transfer this data into a set that is much like a map.
However, it tells me only of concept and not the world, or only basic geometry of the world.
It tells me a lot about space and the symbols and numbers that represent such concepts.
Yet language tells me of my mind, and this math only points out that any change, volume, space, or objects in a dream can be seen with numbers and symbols - that spaces can be exact.
Which may say something about the future, but it can never tell me of the afterlife.
And that spirit/soul even in my materialistic theory means very little when confronted with a new universe.
If I go to another universe, universe B, from this universe A, then even with the transposing of *** and evil into companionship and innocence, in my understanding, these two changes would make the rest of the universe differ greatly.
Thus, the thought of the afterlife will always empty my mind of this universe, leaving me with no real full knowledge of life as I have yet to even use my senses in the next one.
I then always return humble while the atheist considers this universe to be eternal already, without prediction to experience anything greater than its synchronicities.
I have to give them a hand as I imagine this universe overfills them and are forced to deny the spirit rising beyond our cosmos, but rather affirm the spirit that is the totality of this one.
It sets no stage for memories, unfinished karmas, or meeting with the peoples of history.
Therefore, it places a great significance on today, a great significance on love that exists now, and a great significance on the works our forefathers left us.
I would say that this is superior for creating a sense of progress, a sentimentality for others, and a need to experience an openness with all this universe.
Above all else to check off everything on my bucket list.

If it doesn't matter spacially whether there is a 1st or 2nd, etc., connection, then this matter shouldn't matter within reason.
As long as a connection is made or not made, that is all that will stand out.  
The kind of connection made cannot be spacially signified except via overlap or by tangency, so therefore, within reason the kind of connection made should not stand out either.
Therefore, this subject of topology is really a matter of 'connect the dots'.

Confusion's forsaken my thoughts to the long-lost brothers of insecurity.
Forcibly taken and tossed aside to hide within the lies of insincerity.

Kindred servant's lullabies:
Forgotten songs of yesterday,
Soothe me into waking nightmare.

Lead-shoed memories float upon seas made of stone,
Buried shallower than a grass-fed grave.

Anxious tensor userp my synapse's happiness...
Clutching my eversweet peace like a spoil'd child.
Hidden from view,
but most certainly there.

Dare me to escape the frozen steel I call home.
Wrought Irony,
Dragging my prison beneath my feat...

Misspelling's intentional because my feat?
Dragging my feet.

Asleep at the wheel,
my heart is steel.

Awoken stone cries gravel tears,
bruising my feet as I walk,
Talking as if the sensation is anything less than profoundly real.

Tangency is my thought process,
Clever distractions from the harbor'd fears:
just look the other way.

Case in point:
Confusion's forsaken my tears,
as my fears fade away,
if only to return another page.

-


illumination will conspicuously
reveal details only after such a
boorish tangency of skin can be
excused for dim–witted attempts
at enveloping one's entire surface...



s jones
2023





.

2/4
Our worlds experienced tangency
Once, we met and then you're gone
And somehow, that was fine

3/4
Our worlds are asymptotic
You are so close and if i can just reach out
Maybe it would have cleared the doubt

4/4
Our worlds formed a circle
We are half-arcs filling each other