Hypocorism

If mathematics is a tailless cat

That walks unbalanced through a thousand minds,

Is it a changing cathode cat that winds

Through rooms of terminals where cats have sat?

A stanza or a room which has not lacked

For that whereof a cat its mind reminds,

Is one through which a tailwind tacks rewinds,

Unbalanced, seeking for its head intact:

And if they find that which, wherefore they seek,

A force, perforce, that is the end of motion,

They lie to lie upon that perfect island,

As though there lived no catenated notion,

Or never dream through which perchance they sleep;

Thereof cats must then move and be silent.

Because anthropologists do more field work.

I am told this is the substance of the Schliemann Hypothesis, but that it is very difficult to prove or disprove.

On a log scale.

Also is a door-frame basically a pedometer?

Because it was not charged.

ZAR

The clock which ticking giga-, tera-, peta-,

Which sets to talking, micro-, nano-, pico-,

Soon leaves us stopping on this phrase, `big data,'

That is, I hope, the Narcissistic Echo.

They are not even gilt by association.

Into a pair of ballet flats.

A joint venture.

As dopamine's heliotropism

Opens so many windows in houses,

And mansions' doors cede way to nature's prism,

One walks where Flora for Apollo browses.

Yet ornaments make some who love them poor,

Where consuetude and novelty contend,

Save those who never here have walked before:

Perhaps one feels this everywhere, dear friend,

But then more-so, such universal Kant,

Or cant, cannot bear but the summer's fleeting self,

And seems thus too ephemeral a plant

Beside important objects on a shelf.

Or so I think when I would doubt the bloom

That seems the siren of my Chinese room.

When I make tea and I perceive

My oolong blossoming as a flower,

It is much simpler, I conceive,

When leaves give plants their power:

Instead this dried, prophetic leaf,

In shape of what is consequent,

From fruit and flower plucks, as a thief,

This season's look, or taste or scent.

And likewise, as what's last is first,

Since logics antecede all sights,

Deduction being all things reversed,

Should I look dull, must you surmise,

So memory's leaves, poor parasites,

Abduct your photons from my eyes.

Because they'll never be minted again.

Belief, born of limitation,

Verisimilitude in operation,

Love being not that which transcends,

Unloosed from the pier, descends

Again into the river,

And almost palpably the lines quiver

In the compartments, till lashed to the earth,

And the bark, carrying inside it no berth,

Drawn by a stream of phits and flits,

Comprising opinions, which in the dry hold sits,

A quadrillion dendrites bears to what they want,

A rather same and different dockside restaurant.

A blabrador.

I'm poor at basketball, in this more poor:

I miss the net and think, I miss you more.

Because Latin is case sensitive.

The King of Naples

Lost his staples

In the Queen's garage,

And he was sorry.

They were washing his Ferrari

And his microfibre strips

Were filled with paperclips,

Lost by her entourage.