Poorly Written

Everyone else had a paper in their hands
I wielded a large shovel
Rusted, grimy, splintering

On the tip of my shovel
Was an enormous mound of shit

Gruesome beetles and insects
Took turns swimming among the feces

Hoards of overgrown flies
Buzzed around
Inhaling its nauseating aroma

Everyone placed their papers upon the teacher’s desk
I turned my shovel upside-down and let the shit slide off
Plummeting towards polished wood

The blast radius was magnificent
Cities of books and papers
Devoured by the stains of my filth

I shot my teacher a guilty glance
And then took my seat

Spic n’ Span

We test her like Satan tested Job
Dirtying the carpets she cleans
Avoiding eyesight
Because we hope she doesn’t exist
We don’t want our liberal left wing
Flying above a low class Mexican

She is a figment of our imagination
So we dirty the carpets even more, to protest
We paint the walls with pomegranate
We flood the toilets with baseballs

But she continues to haunt us
Eventually we’ll get so sick of her
That we’ll start cleaning ourselves

99˘ life

She walked out of the 99˘ store
With three 99˘ bags
Followed by two 99˘ children
With 99˘ shoes

Her 99˘ face was blank
Her 99˘ clothes were bland
Her 99˘ hair was frazzled
Her 99˘ ethnicity was mixed

She took 99˘ strides
Her 99˘ hips bulged out
She approached me in her 99˘ manner
And her 99˘ voice spoke

“Do you have change for a dollar?”

Thoughts Through Problem #51

        51. Show that if R(n) is a number of moves used by the Frame-Stewart algorithm to solve the Reve’s
              puzzle with n disks, where k is chosen to be the smallest integer with n <= k(k+1)/2, then R(n)
              satisfies the recurrence relation with R(n) = 2R(n-k) + 2^k-1, with R(0) = 0 and R(1) = 1.

at times it seems appropriate to understand the hopelessness of mankind

to conquer nothing, to achieve nothing
might be noticeably similar to those who had courage and fortitude
when the sun’s circumference engulfs the Earth with hunger beyond reason

what a tasty treat we will become

almost enough to persuade the most industrious math professors that the humanities are just-as-unimportant

when we are gone

while poets drink the wine and rum, mathematicians indulge intoxication far beyond that of the tangible world

when one realizes they could not solve a problem if their life depended on it
yet they know full and well that there is an explicit solution
wearing a revealing thong, teasing them in the back of the book

the chasm from start to finish is boundless, for the path has infinite tails

yet poet’s don’t have a back of the book

nor are they certain the book exists

perhaps what is most important, then, is that they continue to drink the rum