a poem for today, 6 April 2012
[a letter sorted sonnet of seven sentences and its image]
Conversely, the infinite extricates itself from the finite only as the latter's incapacity to finish finishing, as its endless pursuit of itself along the ambiguous detour of repetition.
They look at the face, the head, the lips, the hidden labor of the tongue, divining a mind inside the skull.
We hope that you'll be with us on that day of carnal rapture.
For descriptive purposes the body is separated into cavities.
Your goal should be the same as ours.
Thinning hair is a medically treatable condition.
Helping the sciences do even better is, frankly, not high on my list of priorities.
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