I box the forms, the parade of carbon rings to which hydrogen, nitrogen, and oxygen cling. The organic seems solid but lies, nothing more than protons and electrons vibrating mute attraction. I corral the molecular herd. I hem it in.        Arc and cosine   pick    up megaphones.   They shout over me.   I tape them down, tape the tape, lock them into equations. I demand obedience to principle. Scornfully, they redistribute, associating with whichever one they please.   They refuse binaries, squaring and negating.   I put my hands over my ears. I put my head in a vise. I tighten the clamps until it threatens to split, a melon rind, a cervix crowning.   I pocket each scrap. They writhe beneath my fingers in darkness, escape when I remove my hands. I sew them in. Still they riot. You tell me—where do I go from here?