"It is impossible to separate a cube into two cubes, or a fourth power into two fourth powers, or in general, any power higher than the second into two like powers." - Fermat
Damned if you do or don't, drowned if you sink in it, condemned to burn if you think to float, we recursively scape our own languourous diagrams. So many ends apparent, but a finite enumerative stating of the crystal habit dictae hold. This Heliopolis we made together can not be split evenly, it must reconcile its rupture to a winner and a loser. The tragedy of area relationships has everything to do with it.
For me, it embodies a single moment, this function. Perfectly. That is to say; the single moment, where you remember a handful of moments, where infinity trembles, and you love each one for its own singularities. That single moment where I feel empty, like I cannot live again, and I am stunned by my own obtuse insistence on drawing breath. That's why. Anagram to nonagram, this is where it all catches up with its tail, moebioid in Diophantine overlap.
It spirals downward, ever. Combinatorically speaking. I stand out by theory ale, here- for this boggling equation, there is an iterative sum. You can add it up in feathers, subtract it down in prime triplicate. The involvement of computation is moot to our arithmetical bearing. I stand up in cascading tumults, every day leaves me supine, wanton and shattered. I watched two birds fucking in mid-air this morning, and learned something about binomial coefficiency.
She wore a mooney countenance
of grim satisfaction
The flaw in thought process
at knowing where the end of the line was
Her juniper larcenies, crushed
My rhetoric, her exemplify, our litany of error
A gargoyle mask to frighten the heathen sun back into dusk
Bullets for teeth in a broken crown
grin to shoot the snipe out of every albatross
Her jaw's wired into a plush smirk
A garland of inciteful words
to wrap around the insight of naked deeds
aerial plotting of coursework for two
As she saunters out of my memory
she is stiff, tall, proud and straight
No longer bent by the weights
of happiness and hope
There is a shadow on her chest
where her heart's adorned by an imagined bruise
It will disappear for good
when she pushes me out of her light
One-of-a-kind Soma Lyra-8 RED FORSE, crafted by VG Line Artist
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2 comments:
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wanted so powerful lines i must count all!
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