for Melvin Way
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?