Figure 8
Alt music serenades an aromatic algebra;
delicious, bitter, subtle notes served black.
We dance the math - I swipe, she smiles,
equations we don't know we've become.
She measures quanta
in these mathematical grounds, a coffee shop
where perfect rationality is axiomatic
and we've all come to get a good buzz on.
Imbibe the finest chemicals on Earth,
in history perhaps, for a minor modern pittance.
Everything is marginally consumed,
we cooperate despite ourselves
and yet we feel alone.
The sign reads 'Figure 8'
That perky sidelong infinite
of Escher, of Godel,
of all those lofty thoughts
borne of a simple brew
and so much mathy froth.
3/12/2016
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