Simple Theories

This is seven, the much too number, inviolate pretend because prime  This is Sentence of math not worship, sun clock, forecast radiance  this season of William Yeats belongs to turnstile furniture  special aptitude unclogs crusades while is neat and torn  language is arith metic verified by surgical unction and tropes, flags, immodest shit  sour lodges of valuation cre ate a logical crackpot sportive  the welcome is this this a poem

When you Are just an ocean A mouthful Of water A caustic Spleen of Cold resolve But entered Some exquisite Number of Acceptance The much Is infinitely Human Like smaller Numbers simple Wisps in the Fragrance of the Whole gleam let Just let the day begin