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Working over Birk’s Works and other tunes my saxophonist admires—
Cheesecake, Blackbird—for the theoretical, applied mathematics
inside an abstract, audial harmonization of the Big Bang and The Fall.

The derivative reveals the slope of the tangent along the curve of
       spacetime. 
Follow that rope back and forth from the known to the unknown, your 	
      mountain to their shore, 
an umbilical cord between cities and stories, history and hope, divinity 	
       and mortality

                        *                        *                        *

I never had anything wise or gentle to say to my parents.
About bladder function. They got the same treatment as every other
       soldier. 
Which systems shut down first and how. The mail keeps coming even 	
      after you’ve stopped barking.

Man made the town. Tough it out, laugh about it. Take it out
on your spouse and sons. Democracy corrects itself through
constant criticism, neurotic carping, daily life as low intensity warfare.
      That’s how we show we care.

                        *                        *                        *

Will my letter to the editor be in the funny pages?
Will I even be able to read it?
Did I send it to the wrong address? I’ve seen my death face and it’s not 	
      pretty. 

Maybe I can watch your varsity games from a viewfinder in the afterlife.
If I don’t finish The Iliad, maybe there’s a library there.
Maybe. Maybe is a long, long time.

                        *                        *                        *

Homer tries several ways to explain the slaughter:
by describing how a spear pierces a warrior’s jawbone or armor,
how Achilles’ and Agamemnon’s hissy fits contribute to the pain of being 
      a soldier

and how the gods, esp. Zeus, are passionate, confused, obtuse.
A callow youth even as a man, he was afraid and therefore could not 	
      comfort or help.
Perhaps he has a question he’d like to ask but isn’t sure what it is or how 
      to ask it.

                        *                        *                        *

Would you rather have the fever break or something great happen to you? Count your hocus pocus blessings or never piss broken glass again.
Look one way, from another come the heart's missed beats.

Can I call you back? We're trying to get my truck out of the mud. 
Who does he think he is, Nelson Mandela?
Lieutenant, this corpse will not stop burning!

                        *                        *                        *

The hero loses urinary control.
The virtuoso loses interest in her bow.
The expert neglects to do the research.

How do cancer cells and bacteria cooperate to kill
the host (you)? The way yr mum & pop
 you up. It’s fate and it’s not your fault.
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