Stomach

Some days gravity has the advantage

Resisting every movement, pulled

Down by nothing at all,

smoggy air thick with lies

In whose wake truth cowers and

Flees.
For truth stands trembling in the face
of even the most impotent fiction. 

And humbly I try to open my eyes

in light of the sun.

Some days my stomach, that father of gloom,

Digests everything with light feet

And all movement flows like a 

Record vinyl whose grooves

are never transgressed by the

harsh sound of a renegade needle.
For truth still stands trembling in the face
of even the most impotent fiction.

And humbly I try to open my eyes 

in light of the sun. 

Geometry

Time comes back to me

Opens up, talks about being free

From points and lines,

curves, circles 

all trying to settle into the right dimension. 

A point traverses from first to second 

only at the loss of itself, subsumed in description

A line finds itself most comfortable

in the first dimension, where

breadth has not yet made its unwieldy demands. 

But even lines seek their own source

and so become circles. 

The third dimension is where a circle

graduates to sphericality and 

becomes a child's favorite plaything 

Only later to be demoted,

rejected by the same child

When he learns how to calculate 

the area of a circle in math class.

Yes, geometry, that monolithic creator-destroyer,

has shown me its dual powers

To make real and make unreal

The ingredients of a world, 

its possibilities and its rules.