Sunday, July 11, 2010


It is the language of the universe,
the A and Ω of our tongues,
we take in mathematics as we nurse,
it reduces us to tears, to thumbs,

to fingers, toes, that all we count upon.
Our knowledge first is basic, little sparks;
but very soon we’re dancing round the sun,
sizing up each other’s private parts.

The disco ball obeys its rules, the bomb
bows down before it like a vassal king,
math monitors the heartbeat in the womb,
it stands behind each pendulum, each swing,

each note of music throbbing overhead,
when all our other languages are dead.

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