Picture: "Prayerless Game". (I can't remember if I meant to call this picture "PLAYERLESS Game" instead, or if I was just being weird.)
(I just wrote this first poem today.)
Wonder Without Interconnection
---------------------------------
So as to ask us to be precise and trisected, ah,
I inflated, as did we, the circumspect cubes with
Their own actuality of substance. We alternated,
Placing our opponent's timidity within our mesh.
For, then, then the haphazardness overwhelmed us.
Then I drew straight dimensionless lines throughout
From perimeter to perimeter. I drew the angles
Tilted but not pivoting; yet they thrust themselves
Between the squares. *0*0*0* And we contemplated
This game's lack of water or mechanism.
We contained the rotation of our dreams
Within a column and a row both obtuse.
And then I crossed our previous edges, and
I became faulty, but so did we. Oh, we rose
To cast ourselves among these ruptures
Of wonder without interconnection, of
Distress without constituent, without stability.
===========
Unintentional Cards
--------------------
Unintentional cards were taken from their symmetry.
Each black and each white shard was placed
Upon this tabletop. I tasted the subdivision of
Such arrangement. For, I hid within the images
Of palindromes imagined. And she gazed onto
A preconceived line. She stared onto a row once
A column. And she detected among it
The circles of balance. And I, I found in her
The very same tableaux. In her permutation
I saw my own impossibility. Ah, she counted
The theorems I had remade. And then, then
I succumbed to her transliteration. I succumbed
To the game I had betrayed. She was
Oppressed by my dichotomy, yes. But I too
Enumerated unintentional cards. I too was clever.
++++++++
Vertices Non-Adjacent
------------------------
Imagined is the intermediate maze, a game
Made from numbers and aesthetic sleep.
Imagined is every dream of beauty's knife.
Imagined are the crumbs underneath this grid.
And I imagined the diagonal lines. They
Connected vertices to non-adjacent vertices.
Ah, I imagined the penciled polygons, these
Sections carved from squares. And I drew this
Derivation emerging, drew the protractor
Once a straightedge. And I imagined such
Fluid and salt converging upon the tapestry.
And there we partake in the conflict,
Partake in our own thoughts now imagining.
There we scribe the subtle intricacies
Onto paper plaid and blank. Then again these
Imagined rotations are abstract; they are
Bent into our finalities enumerated, into
Our visions each devoid of interpretation.
..................
Without Any Dream Of Dimension
---------------------------------
Etched into chaotic grids, the concave point
Curved beneath the vastness beyond it. Ah, this
Trajectory within us, it became strange; but
Yet it contained its very continuation.
Yes, integers against integers transformed it.
Then every atom of the paper page crumpled.
And that vertex condensed into its triteness.
For, I partake in the actuality of such
Mathematics. And I suppose that numbers
Divide into my calculation. But when I am
Demeaned by the grid -- a game invoked -- I
Become my own distress. I become again
But an uncertain dot; For, I am without
Any dream of dimension. I am without any
Superimposed blur perplexingly counterintuitive.
*************
Invisible Game
---------------
Upward, rightward, downward, upward again -- drawn is
This invisible game. For, it too is symmetric. It too
Is coiled into angles and lines, into arcs and
Polygons defined by their edgelessness. For, intersecting
Are the topologies never combined, never intersecting.
Indecisive are the grids of mismatched bifurcation,
Are the curving diameters of triangles subdivided.
So, into the maze, there the pencil scribes, tearing
At the perpendicularity of our strategies torn.
And we erase the retrograde distances we ignore.
But soon the square implodes, becoming the void
Underneath which we scrawl, scrawl both images and
Imagination upon such an aesthetic, upon
Such an invisible game forlorn, made into its
Nonexistence, into its inspiration
Of iridescent dimensions concocted.
##############
Dots Upon The Maze
--------------------
Precisely, this was not what it almost was,
A triangle barely actual. And yet we placed
The dots upon the maze. We did, as I recall,
So as to honor the squares, the triangles
Each not quite. For, at intersections undisturbed
Were these nonconformist vertices made. Yet they
Never concealed such thoughts. Then, finally,
The lines were drawn, upward and horizontally,
Then rightward and vertically. Still, I came to be
Vain, came to be impressed. Oh, in this completion
I saw triangles and triangles not exact, saw
Quadrilaterals and pentagons and maybe nothing more.
We counted the edges, counted the polygons,
Enumerated the depictions of enumeration.
But somehow the game was incomprehensible;
Somehow the wonder we imply was spitefully resolved.
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
Inexactly Drawn
-----------------
Drawn are the spheres each equal to my iris;
Drawn are these shadows upon the string,
Upon enlightenment and light. Drawn is again
The image of images; is the vision of metaphors.
Drawn is the glass, is the spark, is the water
Dripping into oblivion, into such categories
Of moisture.
And I drew the perpendicularly acute diagonals
Within the point itself within the vertex. And
I transformed curvature into seclusion, transformed
Scrawl redeemed into such formulae unmade.
And I drew the circle without center, drew it
Inside its own reciprocals and synapses, drew
The games' pronouncements onto dimensions
All elevated and lateral, all benign in their
Interpretations sketched intriguingly,
But inexactly drawn.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Of Those Numbers Dreamt
-------------------------
Inaccurately I dispel the ink, placing it anew
Within each square that I count, that I contain.
Subdivided are the rows and columns into a
Ponderous mesh. For, I stare upon these finitudes.
And I strain to differ in such elongation, in such
Amplitudes. Oh, intermittent are the lines, these
Topologies of vertical versus horizontal.
Yet they coalesce about their zeroness. They
Clump about their bifurcation. Yes, the
Pencil and pen and paint subside, only to remain
In their flatness. Finally, we think of those
Numbers dreamt. Finally, it is determined
Which player of the game has transcended our
Conformity; it is determined what our boredom has
Resolved, has placed in balance among our lack
Of formulation.
oooooooooooo
This Game Of Forever
------------------------
This game of forever, it desires its depth,
It is determined to distract us from
The nebula of unpronounceable photons.
Do these remnants of slender glass
Defy the annuli drawn as if foreshortened?
Augmented it is by sultry light traced upon
The haphazard intersections of lines
And their incarnations, traced upon
Insipidness, upon drops of shattered space;
It is by coincidence denied but ever elusive,
But ever devoid of any astringent anagram
Except that which is our adjective,
Which is a game both miniscule and large,
Both convex and hidden within
The thickness of points randomly stale.
^^^^^^^^^^^^
This Game Of Edges
-------------------------
I understood, misunderstood, the similarity,
Knew that I had forgotten
That that is surrounded within such insignificance,
That was this game of edges.
Surrounded by, within, such color and number,
We prayed, we played, upon the clock,
Upon the chessboard disordered
And now shattering.
I understood this simplicity
To never equate equality
With analogy with matter
Or with pattern or images of image.
For images of images of games of the edges,
These, as is forgotten and explained,
These are but made from adjacency, from loneliness,
Despite the definitions of finality, of emptiest assumptions
As to what is the text of the rules
Of a game misshapen and mistook.
//////////
See the games that inspired these poems at:
http://gamesconceived.blogspot.com/
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