Wrought with complication and inaccurate
calculation, this desperate ploy of self
distinction and rampant oiling
of personal metaphoric adequacies,
is, at least to say,
something of rhetorical redundancy
calculable to its predictable infinity.

Perpetual as human derivative an identity
crisis of absurd minimal proportions,
exaggerated to monumental extremes
in hopes that, somehow,
through the process of shared misery
or by mismanaged pity,
one might look down, look across, just look
and see that identity is unimaginably
dislodged from acceptable conditions;
math aside, it doesn't add up.

Preposterous, indeed, for string theory
would have them tugging from either end,
an equal force, neither stronger then
the string that binds them.
And thus they, like cats flocking to birds,
will always be the same number bound
to opposing but measurable equal
psychological circumstances; fully aware
of themselves, their needs negate
their responsibilities.

It takes a couple of ones to make a two
as evened out as shared depression,
and if one was to let the string go
the other would hurl off into space
like some chaotic atom on a joy ride
with this electron curling around them until,
well, only words couldn't explain it.

But the one who let it all slip away
inevitably could never chase the infinite digression,
for that would mandate grasping the string.
It would mean pulling,
and although the equal tension would hold them in place,
no one would ever propel forward,
and that, I contract, is the key to all of this.
Releasing of the pull, on occasion, defines
falling forward
despite landing on ones own ass.

Thus the immeasurable mathematical forces of the
misunderstood Universe of Man leave us entwined;
raveled up in mysteries only experience and
an adequate portion of self reflection can,
and will, untwist.

03/17/2012

Author's Note: And that is that said the cat in the hat.

Posted on 03/17/2012
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