to inscribe the golden shower
that makes a polygon
of oblique intention,
I'd be happy to comply in rays
graphed against a common good,
but ohms against sweet mathematics,
parabolas of misunderstanding
and formulae of greed:
in this trenchant lapping,
there are trouts to calculate,
salmon leaping to infinity
on ladders of defunct mortar:
welcome to a sense of variable glee.
I'd like a shopping cart
of Greek letters and Cartesian proofs,
a sweet vindication on crusty wheels,
pushing a truth both graphical and golden.
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