Poetic Interlude

Jimmy will be back soon with Chapter 3. Until then:

It is only in the happenstance of a year that we find ourselves back again,
a year older, 
the numbers the same,
except one digit increased by one increment. 
The collapse of history and memory tactilely touched in but one. 
The continued turn of the clock,the pendulum swinging back and forth completely memoryless—inculcated in the phase—the wave equation a set of numbers conveniently dressed up as letters and arranged in a super- and sub- script,
A hierarchy of limits. 
The bottom wrung of our ladder holding court,
laying out boundary lines,
attaching itself to each instance of our favored constancy.

This wave,
unlocalized,
foreign and familiar,
touching and spreading and carrying away.
The logical connectives of our thoughts that were lost to truth and falsity,
rise again;
memoryless.
Each combination and forgetting concatenation. 


Every bit of matter,
a wave pent up,
a solid waiting to ripple and spread out. 
This doubt that builds,
but as the pond ripples
I gaze upon my finger tips,
the prints of the womb,
left indelibly and uniquely.
The brief moments—my life,
a wave in stasis,
building up its momentum,
waiting to crest.
And I remember the touch of your fingers,
as our possibilities entangled,
the phase shift in your eyes,
as each color claimed its spot on the prism.
The waves of our lives collapsed for one brief instant,
and then continued on…
The memory not lost.
It is the wave.