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>> Saturday, June 11, 2011

one, three and nine
and all the others in between
      are limits that converge
      defining my axis 
and the burdens i keep

for they reflect time
i lost or integral moments 
      that remain after a turn
      'round the ellipse
deliberate or by fate

and six cannot separate
me from you inspite of yourself 
      for each line or curve you 
      draw traverses, cuts 
through my finite space

so what now with these 
plots, slopes and arrows straight?
      if a slight quake sets me to 
      spiral down like the 
skin of the nautilus

or do i crest the heights of 
my doom? there is no choice but
      to find the point in knowing
      that some things are
indeterminably certain

like the sound of lightning in mars


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