Shapes

Shapes


If it was not for geometry,
we would be lost on an island
we could not define.
Shapes!
All the planets are round,
our eyes are round,
but lines are what builds the world.
The prison library,
the office worker's cubicle,
the coffee table the magazines are on,
what would we do without lines!
It's so good that humans are circular,
relaxedly angular in their fantastic curves,
that sex is linear, but so remarkedly curvaceous.
But again, we are drawn to those
damnable rectangles, squares,
the traffic signals of our lives.
Intransigent, intrinsic, irascible
angles draw us in,
to screens,
to houses,
to furniture.
What if there was a revolution
against linearity,
a throwing out of lines,
like these?
Can anyone compose written words
without straightness,
aimlessly careening off the page,
dripping, dripping
to the floor?
Even the floor has its lines, its shapes,
and the pets ignore them,
curl up to teach us that
the world is more than lines,
more than shapes.
Do not go gentle
into those good shapes.
Bend but not to mourn
the loss that is the world,
bend to live,
dancing round.