Infinite are the poems
Infinite are the poems
in the heart of humanity
without number are the poets possible
we are the songs
we are the dancers
time without time
:- Doug.
Archive for November 12th, 2013
Infinity in the palm of my hand—
an infinite number of infinite numbers
is yet an infinite number
a continuum of all numbers
is larger
yet the same: infinite
(we cannot define infinite)
any length line holds for us
an infinity of points
so I will use to hold
infinity in the palm of my hand
—
:- Doug.
inevitable necessary & real
Some things seem impossible
while equally
inevitable necessary & real
are such paradoxes what we mean by
divinity?
paradox
para deus?
:- Doug.
We echo each other
We echo each other
reverberate—ricochet—reflect
from all about us sounds and colors
from all directions, yes
still, from a single source
:- Doug.
