Life is not a straight line equation,
more like a profusion of calculation,
with no order or organization,
a mathematical manifestation
of unseen ostentation,
the matrix of mystery.
A grand confusion defying explanation,
or answer or solution; enticing imagination
with variables and tangents in ceaseless bifurcation,
and no small dose of triangulation,
one vast complication
of limitless propensity.
Multiply the sine of the angle of inspiration
by the cosine of the slap giving respiration
times again all the droplets of perspiration,
add luck and divine predication,
all together with good education,
but it can never equal destiny.
So much more for consideration
in life’s endless formulation,
from molecular combination
to a black hole’s gravitation
with the source of speculation
a supposed singularity.
Divide this by fear and trepidation,
subtract paralyzing consternation
over life’s tragic limitation,
if indeed mortification
is the last notation,
its summation’s a gross inequality.
Now mix into the computation
the slippery notation of spiritualization
with her immeasurable contemplation
and weightless, mystic meditation
of incomputable implication
for inestimable incongruity.
So what to make of this rumination
on the statistical evidence of this aberration
we call life, for which no multiplication,
or infinitely long differential equation,
can yield such clarification
as to make the blind see.
Bisecting the center of this mathematical pontification,
a line of wonder, awe and mystification,
an incalculable dimension of our habitation,
this indeterminable variable suitable for adoration
incites a proliferation of gratification
in the divine geometry.