We're Just Closed Polygons
We're just closed polygons
With zero curvature,
Living in a plane
With rectangular
Coordinates,
Where all the functions
Are continuous
And bounded
On the interval
From A to B.
Yes, I can hear
You voice your objections,
Pointing to the margin
Of error of approximating
Our two-dimensional
Existence
Of vectors and scalars,
Our masses being equally
Distributed along
The vertical and
Horizontal lines...
But our magnitude
Remains constant
Like the lowest common
Denominator of
Arithmetic mediocrity
With all our epsilons
And deltas showing
Through the cracks of
Our Pythagorean
Pants--
Yes, you squared
Plus me squared
Equals we squared--
No matter how we
Slice it--
We're merely a hole
In someone's topological
Ass...
And even now as
I think about it,
I cannot compute
Our statistical
Significance
Beyond any meaningful
Values of alpha,
For as I spin around
With the angular velocity
Of two pi radians
Per second,
I realize how futile
It all is--
I thought for sure
That I made a mistake,
That my computation
Might be wrong,
But the sum did
Converge after all
To a number that
No one really wanted
To know--
A decimal sequence
Of repeating digits
Of death after death,
Following
A tiny fraction
Of life
With a question
Mark -- was it all
Worth it?
August 6, 2007
Copyright © 2007 by Alexander Shaumyan