With a blunt instrument

With a blunt instrument, can you slice
Through empirical classes and wish
Away the sluice of rhyme that locks
In place after a limp modus ponens
Remembers Socrates, remembers man?

Take this useless blade and allow it
To rust its slick away with each bleed
Of night, shuck of day, drawl of om,
Cool of the viper’s shady venom drawing
Luckless ciphers and callous rules of thumb.


An anti-spoke cartwheel rebounds
Centripetally vacating spoofs of
Dustworms wishing, waltzing - An

Arthritic verse-form matches rap
Of pain in three, four syllables
That are evocative, ebullient- A

Strange remembrance bothers lost
Trapezoids seeking form in three
four platonic wholes, wormthings


“1 The world is everything that is the case.” (1)
In case you were wondering it was otherwise. In
Any case, it follows that the contrary is
Contrariwise to the wisdom of the unwise:
Ipso factum dictum potus collapsimus.

“1.1 The world is the totality of facts, not of things.” (2)
And that is a god-honest truism, with the
Mathematical oath of truth tucked under
The collar of airtight proof and water
Borne disease: such are things and facts.

“1.11 The world is determined by the facts, and by these being all the facts.” (3)
Not a single factotum logicitis is to
Be left out, for that would be blasphemus
Homologus, an isomophic isotope of hydrogen,
Not unlike air, as opposed to water. Yes.

“1.12 For the totality of facts determines both what is the case, and also all that is not the case.”(4)
Here you go, case closed. The ipsonessess
And factotum alumni sit in closed spaces
Where atoms of flair carry out conversations
In vacuum. There is much disagreement & air.

1-4: The first four statements from Ludwig Wittgenstein‘s Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus

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.

PoincarĂ©’s recurrence

The Poincaré recurrence theorem states that certain systems will, after a sufficiently long but finite time, return to a state very close to the initial state.

That return is a given is goose-bumpingly reassuring, but
The initiality, is it just the primordial sense of togetherness
Or something less? If so, what to make of the guarantor who
Does with her math what the fairytale-teller does with his
Amoral ends grafted onto mystic beginnings and shadowy
Roomfuls blighting necessity upon daft necessity in a blink?