THE LATEST YARN
Life may be stippled apart
or stapled together,
each atom no matter how smart
not telling us whether
all things are petty, paltry,
and impenetrable
as monads or nomads,
or general as Plato’s perfectly stable
template of for instance a table.
The illusion of language is able
to alter our forms and norms,
and Deity like us is both from
and impossibly toward,
a dwindling, expanding,
yo-yoing ball of string
with little beads that tally and sing,
or a spool of yearning wishing
to become a material thing
conscious of its mission
in the vortex of the cortex
of the mind of a mathematician.