Barton

The cold equations lie to you. They lie

Not in themselves (the math is right, of course)

But in their will to power. Asking why

The cold equation rules -- is it by force? --

Reveals, or can reveal, a deep design

That someone's interest calculates and sets

To make the cold equation seem a sign

Of universal meaning. But who lets

The cold equation go on being cold?

If we all know the cold equation's flaws

Who benefits from our failing to fold

Our own protections round its jagged laws?

The cold equations are still true, still cool

But people chose to let equations rule.

fishes

I wish I were not scavenging my time 

Robbing Peter to pay Paul, and making

Each little word and every single rhyme 

A muscle torn, reused and ever-aching.

Imagine that the time ahead of me

Were smooth and open, free to fill at leisure:

Impossible the possibility

And endless the end-stopped, creative pleasure.

But it has not been so, will not be either;

I cannot count on time to while away.

I am a child teething without teether

Gnawing my knuckle bloody to allay

The pain of what is rising from below

And has no patience as it strives to grow.