All That’s Left (poem)

Gentle waves slosh in slow breakers

stones too wet receive the dreams

in timeless mist of entropy

the aesthetic, silent infusion of song

Green is a treason for numbers

that cry for profit of increase

where infinite circles reach greater

expanses against relativistic effects

For gravity is all that’s left

from a counter-punching organization

replacing infinite fractions with wholeness

increasing ambient sentience in one

Loch ness like monstrous equation

that being and becoming

multiplies complexity while it simplifies

starry crescendos and planets orbiting tighter

as spaces fall away

land time goes by.