'Ff'lo (fflo) wrote,
'Ff'lo
fflo

altering the assignment

So I scrapped the ottava rima in progress about life-long proclivity for proximity to number-wonder minds and their housings, and I'm skipping the film noir assignment I'd have addressed by riffing on the one classic character (arche)type, and now today's is supposed to be an un-love poem, and that's not what this is.


Nested Russian Suckage Dolls

Yeah, that's what it is, and the trippy thing is how
they morph, which one containing which
never in clear, or the same, order, their sizes and shapes
doing topological non-donut tricks you could model
with computers, maybe, if you could keep up with it,

but the formulas and functions
are always changing, and we're
smart, too smart, but not that smart,
and anyway what good would it do,
describing it exactly instead of
--- instead.


I don't much like the ending, as it currently is.

Here's a bonus, today's offering from april-is:


The Fist

The fist clenched round my heart

loosens a little, and I gasp
brightness; but it tightens
again. When have I ever not loved
the pain of love? But this has moved

past love to mania. This has the strong
clench of the madman, this is
gripping the ledge of unreason, before
plunging howling into the abyss.

Hold hard then, heart. This way at least you live.

                                          -- Derek Walcott
 
Tags: poetry
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