(In)finite

                                              You know, I was no Einstein.

                                                                     Albert Einstein


Infinity,or the illusion of it,

Keeps me in business.

My world is finite, without edge.

Demented concepts are my speciality,

All there is,in the end.

Neither and both are my twins.


I can’t help thinking of all the mathematicians

Who have killed themselves...

Did numbers drive them mad

Or were they just lonely like the rest of us?


On a winter beach,

Picking up stones and releasing them

If they do not quite possess the shape I want,

I try to catch the curve of things,

The distance within.

Each thought is like a message from a neutron star.


I look at my hands,

Ridged and veined,slightly calloused,

And remember they were made

In the cores of stars.


My life is a Möbius strip,

A Klein bottle.

There’s terror in the beauty,

Panic in the idleness.


I am trying in vain to make a universe

That looks a little like this one.

All I knw is that nothing can be perfectly smooth

Or perfectly still.


At night from my window

I can see the Ferris wheel on the pier,

Lit up and turning.

Somehow everything fits together

And no-one really knows how.


Will the cosmos one day collapse in on itself

And disappear into the tinest dot

Only to be born again

With the same ecstasy and terror?

Will history repeat itself entire

And find me standing here,this moment, once more?