arhythmetic

these three remainders
you, me and her are
the legacy of simple math
and boolean logic, not so much

we have lost our ability
to add and multiply
desire sliding slowly
off the tail end of X

crossed paths in a cradle of
American comforts
so many plus signs
weighed us down

there is no magic in subtraction
a solitary horizontal bar
where nothing stays,
at least for very long

this foil between us
I lunged from the left
you two repelled, siblings
parrying behind Prospero

division is our only function
anemic lines squeezed
between fecund dots
expecting no friction

only a clean cut
which never heals
despite our common
denominators

heir apparents with no answers
still wanting some of it all

Tale of the Rake (or Ode to an Asshole)

Monsieur Montreal
was vacuum sealed tight
inside his dadaist
dungarees

he lost his lucidity
once he passed fifty
the effects of gravity
evident

his lust for control
and pretty young prose
created only
impediments

crossing parallel lines
in the name of aesthetics
eyes wide shut but for unconscious
poetics

ah, the vanity of old men
who worship the pen
and grope in the dark for their
muse

is mathematically defined
by Pythagorean minds
as non-linear, impotent and
obtuse



pour poor Monsieur Clifford Duffy

Prime Numbers (for M.R.P., the poetryman)

       everything is divisible

     as we grow up, and threadbare
        mistaking weak seams for durability
            heavy sighs collapse the card house

    but not in number theory

        where certain ordinates are
    invincible
            they cannot be divided

   even though ordinary men
            still pick fights
     over the primality of "1"

          demonstrating that every one
               has a primal instinct
        to shoot their own reflection

           there just may be salvation

                    in prime numbers
        the mathematician's decoder ring
                  as sexy as Salome's seventh veil
           unlocking Herod's secrets

        and a bard in Arkansas
          who leaves the restaurant
                 with Mamet on the table
        to start a revolution with a keystroke

               and reassures me
   that the power of one lies not in its division,
                  but in its multiplication

Heisenberg Sunrise

the invitation
a surprise like Texas snow
sweetened my Earl Grey

gently stirring Heisenberg's uncertainty principle around
in my morning cup of tea
dissolving it like granulated sugar

sipping slowly the diluted theory that
the value of certain positions
cannot be measured