Saturday, March 24, 2012

cannonballs


we float

      arc’d

  we are
     calculated mid-flight
        our past:  a curved conception
          of perfect beauty

               we are
                  an equation
                    our present:  a sum
                       of averaged and intangible points
                         and infinite tangents
                           described
                            with perfect beauty
  
                                we are
                                  a mathematical purity
                                    our future:  ordained
                                      by the plane which cuts
                                       our paper hats.
                                        parabolae.

                                         we are parallel.

                                         para- ll -el.

                                        parallel. 

                                      infinite in
                                     approachment
                                    rapprochement
                                   reproachment
                                  but always
                                 and finally               
                                unable  to  touch



                           at apogee burned, blinded by light
                         wings already melting.
                        at perigee, in ageless dark
                       stuffed down the barrel; buried
                     near the target
                    and  So  so    cold.

                  subject to
                the gravity
              of the situation
           surrendering to the fall


            
            arc’d



like cannonballs



1 comment: