What meaning do I have beyond copper and pine?
Mind the contemplation of life’s final geometry.
Measurements reduced to a rectangle and two circles.
But, what of luck?
Debatable…
Whether with or without granite markers;
With or without written remembrance,
That I should seek to define the unquantifiable.
To whom the numbers matter,
My calculations fail to tell.
Equations filled to the brim with both real and imaginary,
And somehow it still never seems quite right,
Weighn against itself, the container overflows while empty.
I find only confusion as both infinity and zero compute.
Math’matical madness.
My calculations fail to tell
To whom the numbers matter.
While multiplying by nonexistent ones
And adjusting the division by measured time,
The lack of definition appears to be the only remainder.
Luck has no place.
This is understanding.
Perhaps four corners are the only right angles,
And the sum of two circles is still just zero,
So what meaning do I have?
Beyond copper and pine?