as we approach the start/finish line, i turn on an axis of my own making.
i bleed into language like a storm lets rain, untamed, bound by none.
when we're gone, they'll tell stories about us, and it will all begin like this.
they are a definition unto themselves.
on that first day of classes
they asked me what my religion was—
i smirked and said,
because i wonder about the slope of your cheekbones, the curvature of your hands in every vase of flowers you've carried and all the notebooks you've filled up. there's nothing heretical about this, loving girls as much as boys and only wanting to be their best friend. wanting, with all my being. there's nothing improper about it but they tell me i'm wrong anyway.
eventually, at some critical point, i learn to stop caring.
coincidence, perfect coincidence, that black-gray-purple are the colors i choose to dress in, that pink and blue were the first colors of pain
our introduction was a hushed symphony composed from
arithmetic means; a blush was coloring your cheeks while
i told you that my lips plus yours multiplied by time could
equal something greater than everything we've dreamed of
i sketched euclidian geometry with my lips into the hollows
between your ribs; your head began to swim and your pulse raced
while i proved that the matching sides and included angles
of our hearts coerced and shaped them into congruent figures
we sprawled out on your covers and held protractors to our
bones; you carved a compass into your skin and measured the
sine cosine secant of your collarbones as my fingers stretched
themselves into independent vectors that lay tangent to you
during free evenings you worried about the ever-expanding universe
while i worried that it would cease to expand; the limit of us as our
integral approaches racing heartbeats and falling in love is beginning
to suspiciously resemble forever and the derivative of space an
so you ask me to play
the number game with
reciprocal, you say,
your eyes. should i let
myself become numb,
Dark materials and sketch
Hold this moment and that
Tight; Caress the grass and the
Trees with your pencil,
Let your pen sing love songs to
The curves of this face,
The soft textures of hair and fur and shirt and skin-
Oh artist, take up
The lonely calling, yours and
The child who waches in her own world,
That painting that lies on the wall...
As a lover, woo:
The world, our playmate and nursemaid,
Loves to be flattered. She will
Stand still for you for years and years,
Mountains holdingh patiently for
Many portraits over millenia,
if the origami flowers unfold you'll see how
there is sin written all over the pages,
notes scrawled into the corners and
[negatives in radicals]
"that would make it unreal," she murmurs, as if it weren't, before.
The room was dark and the air was cool. She slid her head into he doorway until she was certain the room was empty. Satisfied at its lack of occupancy, she quickly slid into the room and closed the door behind her. She groped the wall in the darkness until she found the light switch. The room was illuminated and Casey sighed with relief. She still clutched her bag to her breasts protectively. She was all alone now. Finally. The long awaited day had finally come to pass.
Slowly, as if in a dream, she slid into the seat of a cheap tan
They just happen to use "u" (are lost)
Eightscore eight days hath passed
and not once has x (marks the
spot) been found
Take the derivative (from whence you were derived)
and divide by zero ("u" or one of the failures you've met)
And your equation, your ph(r)ase has now exploded,
what have yo("u") done?
NEVER divide by zero
before you reach the limit (the sky, perhaps?)
What, you get it now?
Well, when's the wedding?
O Mathematics, bane of high school pupils!
You are their source of misery and woe.
For their brains are in tizzy
--Except for those front row wizzes--
And their glazèd eyes are dizzy
(I can smell the neurons fizzing)
And the heated room is sizzling
From the foreboding sweat of
All the wicked cruel, infernal flames
Of grimly grinning devils,
Or all the torments in Hell's forbidden halls
With their screeching, engines of torment and woe;
All these found in Hell cannot compare
With the one most suited ill to me.
For the fallen angel here is armed
With textbooks of arithmetic,
Of calculus, theoretical theorems
Cartesian graphs and an abacus of doom.
In this chamber of utmost torment
My brain is stretched and wracked.
Cerebral juices bleed upon the floor.
The silent screamings of widened eyes
Gazing with horrified affright.
Mouths agape like senseless apes,
In bestial, dreadful terror.
Oh, men may praise your constancy and tr
Thats what I see when I close my eyes:
You scribbled them
In your spiky handwriting
On my English notes.
(I wrote around it,
In case you were wondering)
We laughed under our breath
Half-listening to advice on synthesis essays
(Were AP material, after all)
And I scribbled some, too,
Blue ink next to black
Like our eyes, only opposite
Giggling like the schoolgirl that I am.
(Going home to dream about you)
Because I stopped dreaming a
By use of thee and thy derivative
If our love doth move up or down -- easy --
But I believe us far less primitive.
I center to thy curve's x-intercept;
So well-versed am I in Newton's Method,
Thou givst me much more numerical depth
Than my graphing calculator e'er could.
Quickly I can look and see our limits --
Parabola swoops to infinity,
Plus f prime prime curvature within its
Upward accent of thy divinity.
I'm most aware: without thee, Calculus,
My education (nay, my life!) would be valueless.
as the clock clucks at me to finish.
I bend my arm over the icy desk but,
my pencil tip fails to drop.
I think of my brother
who hears two and sees blue,
peace-of-mind blue, like a glance at the summer sky,
simple, like a drop of water, that one day
will add to the rush of river rafting,
heart pounding, but with a sure-hand glued to the paddle,
charging toward the goal just around the bend.
When I hear two, I see a blank sheet of paper.