Well I hope we love each other because i’ll invite friends over but fuck I live in Inwood.
for Ann Greenfield
The first lesson is a confusion of symbols
and meanings. Where algebra was once enough
to describe driving five dark hours
from New York City to the Berkshires,
now a different understanding is required.
Even simple exercises pose difficulties:
sift the text of your life together
down to a handful of photographs,
then explain the changes that connect them.
No one gets it at first. Even after weeks
of differentials, you resist the limits
that prove the continuity of change.
In a failing of heart, you imagine only
that New York is immeasurably far
from upstate Massachusetts, regardless
of the journey that once joined them,
or that the ball, lost in the tall grass,
forgets the imperfect parabola of its flight.
But now the new math works to explain
a dance piece, whose movements first frame,
and then disembody the dancers.
In class, the physics of familiar objects,
set flying by these new-found forces,
yield the first fruits of the new analysis:
Here is the moment the ball pauses
before falling, and these are the paths
the planets trace through the heavens.
Just as the world is deconstructed
into this different and changeable nature,
the lessons shift to a sort of addition
that measures velocity to find position.
Whose exercises seem by turns trivial
and ontological: derive the meaning
of the dance from the sum of its movements,
or show how the distance the ball travels
depends on the wind and the moon.
Yet in these last weeks, something else
accumulates in these figures: a safe return
from a fledgling’s journey, a sense of self.
Neither planets whose paths barely curve,
perturbed by other bodies, nor motes
borne up by the rough flood of the air,
but these two natures are joined in us
and we must reconstruct our hearts
for these hard changes to fit their parts.
By Jack Boatwright
It’s like you can enjoy an mf doom song but he can relate to it
you were just bad, now you’re wrong.