Prime song

If you allow the diction of primes and moduli
To seep in, if you permit the proper allocation

Of happenstances to permute themselves
Into a blissful cohort of isomorphic wholes,

It dawns on you, allowing dawn to be a
Non-representative member of the set of

Holes warped into spacetime by the brute
Ness of a lived unwholesomeness, it dawns

On you that the primed possibilities of livid
Abundance are due to be outnumbered in

Theory, and soon in fact, so take recompense
At laudable affinities, half-lives and truth tables.

If you lisp the prime numbers till they
Sound just right, and not hesitate to

Mispronounce them oddly/evenly, they will
Slice right through your prism of angular

Hesitations and tabular premonitions such
That so and so theorem promulgated from

Above just has to be such and such, but
That is not how it goes, does it? That is

Simply the improbable trying to argue its
Hyperbole lemma into its own bit of real

Estate. Grab the primes, let loose their
Pronunciation, and they will burst into song.


“The challenge of modernity is to live without illusions without being disillusioned.” Antonio Gramsci

Also to dust off rust that clings to the hoary silences
And unbegotten riddles of a transcribed fate muted

By a plastic slogan engineered by teflon mendicants
Shy of their place in an unhinged history, that too is

The challenge, and to dust off the dry resolutions of
A tepid history, an unwoven unsung history, trapezing

Aloud, immersing inside, appeasingly indolent in yet
Another gasp of dust air, molecules devoid of zest

That pulls the neutrinos and anti-neutrinos muscled
In a tight embrace of unmanufactured, unformulated

Thick moss of what the eye sees when it is given the
Care to see. That too is the challenge, and to dust off

Caricature, puzzle, drivel, and weight from discussion.
To round off the appeasement of rain and some flakes.