A maniac douses the archives

The lady is manic. She scarfed
her eighth of true blue shrooms
and unwound geometry in my face.
She sweats—logarithms, rhythms,
she says there must be a system
to this somewhere, in another how—
she forgets—I envy her,
her trance and every moment
she greets the mystical
which swims beneath her grammar—
in defiance of nihilism,
her gorgeous heft interrogates
the author of the universe—
two silly boys and a woman
in a room—triangles untangle
and Archimedes is a black lady—

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~ by Jeremy on June 18, 2013.

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