The numbers buckled from the stress,
the weight of thought and equation.
From dry silent lips, the chalk dust speaks
...
Climbing the ladder waterfall of your breathing
I scale upward through torrents of emotion.
There is no dam - no time to prepare
...
Toward the twisted rift we set out like lost dogs
unaware of the future of mankind, only of its scent -
its comings and goings in forlorn delusion
and the trails left in the winds and the soft dry dirt.
...
May awakens
and one of her slippery rivers
bring stones into bloom.
The moss suns its soggy back
...
In a tiny wooden boat she pushed off
alone from the dockings ties and set herself adrift
out into the cool waters and the darkness.
And the stars overhead cast their gaze
...
The Mathematicians
The numbers buckled from the stress,
the weight of thought and equation.
From dry silent lips, the chalk dust speaks
and coughs its solution
to eraser head interpreters with graphite dialects.
Out in the hallway the ink flows freely ~
sticky musk of the unbridled minds
Upward, around corners,
thick and dripping from archways,
pooling, moving, bending steel and stone.
But in here, in this classroom,
it is fluorescence over fire,
order over chaos
Preserving the ancient language,
building shelter for the dreamers.