I shut the door so I could wonder to myself
How the animals felt who were slaughtered here.
It's just an office. It has a window and a slightly tilted floor,
Hard to notice, thanks to carpeting, that used to let
The blood collect. People talk about repurposing
And innovation as if innovation ever needed a purpose
Or could be steered by the changelings it prepares
For dinner. Writes the science writer, "If there's one thing
That everyone agrees on it's that the time for metaphors
Is over and the time for mathematics is at hand." I imagined
The beast about to be made into cutlets saying this
To itself, or the butcher saying it to the beast. Either way. I jumped,
Startled, when in another room somewhere another door slammed.
"No mathematical object is a perfect match for nature."
No comments:
Post a Comment