Geometry

Geometry

There is a point on a plane,
in plain English a dot,
for what is a dot
but a spot?


and


diving through it,
is a line, unlike
“How are you doing?”
or “What are you doing
tonight?”

I laugh at the mirror
in the morning,
and cry into my journal
before breakfast.

The point on the plane moves,
so mundane yet fiercely
chasing the bottle.
It describes my world,
delineates my life.
And I, sitting in it, breath deep
and wonder, why all this busy chatter?
When will I begin
to hear?

This point on this plane
dances in pain,
and reminds me
that I’m a dummy,
and the dogs want out,
and other things worse . . .




like a fat man walks in his underwear
somewhere out there, he is
a sphere of knowledge, a seer

of pain and hatred, born from depravity,
nurtured by ignorance, plucked in a harvest of hatred.

What if I followed him?



And as the point on the plane
describes my world,
delineates my life—

I, sitting in it,
breath deep
and wonder,

if about the bottle
I truly care,
should I find

a compass
or a square?




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This poem is from "Bottle in the River" 
                     about a Poet's journey down a river, chasing a bottle
                     tossed by the fingertips of "that I am."
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Written within the parameters of the theory of "Multivalence"