christopher phelps

I a dividual or I a monad. You and I an ionic dyad or we a covalent blend (underlap? figure eight or nine?)— eth and breath, branch and thorn.  (I and Thou. Ich und Du.)

If chemistry is already that strange, Goð help the cells and larger that get word of themselves.
 

I feel equal parts lucky to be alive and remiss that I can't make up      for lost life. I have time to run but not to walk. Angstroms but not ounces. Autumn sun on my skin.

What is waste in a universe so allegedly, illustriously vast?        What is it to come full circle in the selfsame syllable?
 

Not the first time I've asked and probably not the last. /

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Tendencies

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1. I live at the lost & found—rough on one end, ruffle on the other.

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2. Math is enough, then not.

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3. Poetry is the clear expression of mixed feelings, Auden said.

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<Work|

 

1. Nights, I revise and read: mathologies, poetries, philosophies, and reminders of occasional quench.

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   Mornings, I look for words and plan lessons.

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3. Afternoons, I tutor students (here or privately), and/or study life in some sort of gradually widening gyre.

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4. I'm not sure I've parsed the possibilities yet (one per relevant chamber), but Antonio Porchia wrote, "A full heart has room for everything; an empty heart has room for nothing. Who understands?"

I love correspondence.

I may have missed the heyday.

Nevertheless, feel free to contact me.