Aught, no. 6 (2001)
Colloid Tale I
Nonlinearity decided to ask
bifurcation about the honey. But, when
it was looking for function
at frictions house, it contracted
only dissipation, high in a system. Im
producing what a nice equation
said I should do, it swirled, conquering
my model of fibrillation. The crater
returned, though, when an analogue
cracked under it, and turbulence
folded, all ready to intersect
orbits. But the drift wouldnt bounce
all the way; all we could do was
to catch an attractor on the mechanism
down. An avalanche of electrons
from a phase transitions tree
sent the axis rolling toward
renormalizations scaling. Now
this pendulum was not expecting
fluid. Their garden feedback
said it was Crystal Day. Even
if you think youre not topological,
she told their oscillation, we go
by the mercury. But, before they could
arc a single cascade, he was
swept toward non-rhythms period-
doubling of twigs. The tumble left
everyone without even one spike
over counter-intuition. When
theyd rolled it to a spectrum,
vibration showed everybody a finite
tilt. Why dont we magnetize
the instabilities? a particle dared
to ask. Now an entropy basin meant
wavelength to dribbles house. Equilibrium
studied the superconductivity
carefully, then bound it
globally. Vibrate about me; Im
clustering far away. And that,
convection added, spelled flapping
for our brink. We must
help him wander, lag said. Ah!
Youre iterating on a grid. She
drew dust and told them of the galactic
circuit blob they would be monitoring.
We dont recognize eyebrows from the horny
playground. Terrible swath of lichen.
The bride is normed as brisk and bearded.
Regrettably toylike, the grooms late penance:
a carbon. Some marriage is what they
crudely steamed all along. Wonder if the tour
was more mildewed than you might have gleaned.
Some make poor obfuscators, but an odalisque
colander takes charge. Self-sacrifice
earmarked for the incrementally parsimonious
candle harangued by Pentium.
Cat scan aporia reverb.
Is it his pariah supplement
that she quaffed? Could it be a dysfunctional
elbow in the jumpsuit? Something serially
rigged about the corporation? Bodily unsure
of diaphragm gold? You were a
cylindrical tennis cabin, yet way too often,
tearjerk thunder ripe for major polyps.
Before a group of screws, you
treated me with onions; when I reached a higher
fleece, you got eastern. The crew used to wax
adenoidal about our screwball cliffhangers. With
mucho iterative graphing, this subsided. To pizza.
© 2001, by the author. All rights reserved.
Return to Aught, no. 6, contents