about the trickiness
of algebra
or the tedium
of arithmetic—at least math
always works.
The signal's
always digital; calculation
never hurts.
One cannot, by
contrast, say the same
about words.
Our metaphors
are scabrous
and charmed as quarks,
and even pleasantries, though
sugar sweet, can overheat
and burn.
At least our
best equations can
dissect these loaded terms
into disembodied
letters bent on
formulaic certainty;
our sloppy questions
of what is (or maybe isn't)
only serve
to add duplicity
to this world—confabulation
leaves us lonely.
