Poem-A-Day #242 : Parkinson's Law

Parkinson's Law
There is an equation for everything - it's exhausting
          right now the man next to me is doing complicated figures - it's calculus
                               but could be advanced geometry - physics
I don't know
and that's my point - there are figures on pages for every damn thing
and I don't know them -
                                                  I think about the things unknown
                              there are expanses of them - not horizons enough
            you are standing on a mountain and you can see the whole way
around the world right to your ass - and then inside your ass to your stupid brain

But sight would fail you first - the world fills and fills and fills
because it is an expanse - humanity is bureaucracy - a steady fractal -

          we multiply to fill the space given - we are at our highest number right
before collapse -

I don't know if we collapse - it's exhausting
thinking about apocalypse - I feel that numbers are ants marching across
the corpse of the forest - sifting the leaves for foodstuffs -
                                                    that could be peaceful -
                                  but if we go with the proof in the math
              it's probably unpleasant - it's probably equalling
there's a diagram I'm sure - it's probably a triangle closing its sides to us

We can multiply to fill the space given but if the space shrinks we're fucked

After The Graffiti

After The Graffiti 4/3

The wales have been blotted out
on the wall of the school

Large pale blue squares
where they once were

This swimming geometry
bobbles along on Park and Classon

Here suddenly
a nose breaks the confines of the square

Abrupt and mathematical
Waving cosines from the depths

Parasite Weaver

Parasite Weaver 2/13

The orb weaver makes geometry in the air

Tackles the night and makes reflection

That parasite takes its sense from it and
wraps it around into a cocoon

Makes the weaver spin camouflage

Takes geometry and turns it to lies

Quaquaversal

Quaquaversal 8/30

1.
In the black soup of space
the viscous swirling soup with the milk strands
threading and braiding

The pin pricks of light
popping through the curtain
shining shafts of heat to the core of the universe

2.
A small place
opens its eye
and radiates
hot waves

3.
And

the edges peel from their stays
a flower withering closed at night
paper in a fire a microwave

everything pulls in
every finger recoiling from the flame

4.
All light is lost

Every face turns together

And stares into the abyss

Minimax

This is one of a few different poems I wrote with this title. Minimax is a concept in game theory that involves a lot of math. This poem was meant to be my turn in a game of trying to get you to see something clearly.


Minimax (1/23)

The avenue is a force line - a heavy vision
pushing its way down Manhattan to the sea

From here the street vanishes in a fuss of heat
and gloss - the road floats

It is a black strip of magic - ramp
The coming car tide - asphalt becomes air

The avenue is a steady climb - there
in your room you can see it up the walls

Now tell me what I see

Mellin

The Mellin Transform involves inversion and expansion. Perfect concept for fall. Though fall could be characterized as an inversion and contraction of things. Which also applies to the poem below:

Mellin (11/1)

Leaves touch the surface become boats for the Ibis to play sea monster to
Eyes have that way of reflecting a person as a lover and then you are sitting on a leaf in a bowl
Even when you are just friends suddenly you may be holding hands and feathers will pull
Water will act like ice and each will run in opposite directions buy only for so long
The Ibis will sit black-eyed he will be thinking about fish not about your succulent flesh
Leaves pull themselves back to their limbs and then re-green then bud