Tangential AsymptotesI think about falling in math class.Tangential Asymptotes4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The boy in front of me is writing diligently, noting each and every word as though he forgot it was all in the textbook. He has dark hair all tangled up in the back like a bramble of thornbushes and his green hoodie looks like it could use a good washing.
The professor is rattling on about asymptotes, about two lines that go on forever, getting closer and closer but never touching. He tells us about the Greek roots of the word; asymptotos, that it means "not falling together," and he scribbles nonsense equations on the board and hopes that we understand them better than he does because tenure is the only reason he's teaching this class.
As much as I hate math, I have to admit there's something beautiful about the concept. Something romantic and longing, something I can relate to in a sea of cold precision and dispassionate numbers.
I think about falling in math class. I think about fractals and their intricate patterns, turning equations into art. T
My Own No-BodyI die every dayMy Own No-Body3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
On wings of a black raven
Its beak tears my eyes
Its claws lift me up from dirt
Piece by piece
I melt and slip away
Lava burns my shadow
I evaporate silently
Empty and undefined
I cannot love or hate
With void in my eyes
I'm filled with the world
And there is no purpose
To my directed movements
Only blackness of the night
And my own no-body
A Brand New FormBreatheA Brand New Form3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Until you loose yourself
This construct of memories
This skeletal form of dust
Your soul creeps away
And rots within and dies
Breathe into the mind
Deconstruct its body
Your blood stops flowing
No one needs it anymore
Your eyes are open
But all around is black
Violence of the hearth
While it strives for oxygen
It remains to remind
Mundane self persists
Until all is stripped away
Until you receive
A brand new form
About ArtNobody will ever love an artworkAbout Art3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
as passionately as the artist
And nobody will ever hate an artwork
as much as the artist,
cause it holds a part of himself inside
And it might be a photograph of
the beauty of his mind
but also a mirror for
the abysses of
SubtextI didn't learn to identify caesurasSubtext3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
by marking used textbooks
with dog-eared pages;
but by listening to the sound
silence makes when words aren't needed,
and reading the subtextual themes.
Anatomy of the SunLanguage is body yearning to reach past itself. Body is body as it bodys up the stairs.Anatomy of the Sun3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
You were born to be lonely
and look across the undulating landscape of words
and on the horizon see the smoke of an invisible fire.
What would you burn if I gave you its embers?
I wake up believing
(1) The earth will be orbiting beauty.
(2) All the old motions of celestial matter
were only weaving us a better comfort.
(3) Something holier than hunger
will hold me up and drive my limbs through the air.
(4) The sonic tedium of a beating heart
will no longer be what lets me live.
Lake up bleating: I am only a tree
but the usual gravity lays us down
knowing of our own impossibility.