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CALCULATIONS FROM SCRATCH
by Eugenia Macer-Story


Trying to calculate from Scratch, once again

        Why Shakespeare wrote no plays

The statistics professor contemplates

        Ibis whipping the number seven

Symbolically over boundaries of long division

        Frustrating easily divisible purpose of demons

To control life within indicative diagrams

        Embodying itself in the duplicate sweater

Of the carpenter impersonating the history professor

        Or the professor with tools, attempting

Rational architecture by exactly duplicate

        Planks and mortar,         not fitting each other

In the freezing ice storm, expanding later

        As continual sun brings edges level:

The kingdom of ice and of shadows

        Disappears into carefully-built igloo of granite

Shadow without a name, solidly rendered

        In tiny exact details, easily crumbling.

Yet pellet in pale plaster, fallen

        Into a niche as the planned wall goes haywire

Shows (possibly) the number 7 with a flexible whip

        Sprouting in a loop from priest’s hand

Masked, in a sketched robe with bird feet

        Enigmatic, yet we know: number seven

Difficult to duplicate, punished

        For standing alone: haunts the centuries

With irregular odd/ even multi-anomalies

        But perhaps that is the purpose of the cameo:

To stand alone : 7 whirled by chaos

        Into: the stand alone 7, pendant found

Within a flaw in the crumbling wall, solidly

        Regular in being solid like a plaster pill

Marked with esoteric formulae & undigested,

        Still in the alchemical capsule.

“Scratch” trying to calculate from chipped cameo

        Patterns of raw quartz making new infinite sigils

Sketches interlocking loops too easily now

        In flowing completion of the incomplete weather

Where there’s no infinity upon the moment

        Startled that the same, secure circles go nowhere

Undetected again as cave entrance  plowed under

        Vast rooms now keyed into rough chiseled detail.

Bright ice speaks shifting shadows darkly

        Silhouetted through overhead window

As sun highlights melting ice  & in the moving trees

        Numbered faces form briefly on pale walls

Of the careful archeologist’s nightmare.


        Along the expected path, historically

A small zig zag on the graph introduces white noise:

        The Ibis in the abyss existing as nothing

Throughout the longer journey, missing

        Instants arranged into the moving scenery

Subtly changing value of journey beyond fašade

        By adding./ omitting one fragment of distance

Every now and then, scourge of the number 7

        & hidden in the niche, the blood-stained pamphlet.

 



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