i. the limit: some infinities are bigger than the other…

Determining the Slope:

I rack my brain until I focus in on one instant of time that distilled the peak of happiness between us. I subtract me from the equation and am left with only *u. Naturally, I take out a piece of paper and compose the instant into a poem.

Conceptualizing How Small Infinity Can Be:
I fold the paper continually, constantly, evenly, until I cannot fold it any further. I realize, conceptually, that I could continue to fold it, but it’s too dense for my lady fingers, still, it’s lost no value, it’s lost no mass. I finally grasp infinity in the palm of my hand. I finally have conceptualized how small something so endless is truly. I no longer feel burdened by the pain of losing you, and dwell in the blessing of the memory in perfect peace.

Expressing the Derivative Function:

Guilty. I went off on another tangent, didn’t I? Trying to create a harmonic frequency between us.  Attempting to unionize algebra and geometry; discovering calculus. ( – us ) 

It clicks. It took only the crack of a heartbreak. Although, from within the confines of our 4-D spacetime it sounded more like a big bang. It wasn’t quite so dramatic from the vantage of a higher plane. My guts, thoughts, and inner-workings spilled outward and in every direction — hot with grief but cooling quick— the seemingly un-seen ingredients congealing into spherical structures and gaseous masses. I step back from this new universe, wipe the salt from my bleary eyes, see clearly and declare, “It is good.”

Glad to finally understand what I was made of. Even if I had to be dis-integrated, first.

Isolating the Integral:
I had a thirst for knowledge; crafted water. A little bit of hydrogen, some oxygen, atoms, bosons, and quarks in all their flavors squeezed together into a swirling tonic fluere. I take a sip and remember being human. How strange. How lovely. I fashion a lime, —slice— my drink becomes complete.

I recall the slope of your throat and calculate it inch by inch forever. May the limits of a frail female heart never condense *u into something finite in her fever. May *u flow forward in infinite flux, avoiding every event horizon, transcending lightspeed, and all that matters, in every direction you choose to fly in.



*six pm

∅.                                              *

                                                                         .            ✧     .     

    *                                                       .

                                    .                                                 *        


nothing gold can stay; 

                   not even
       Dorian Grey– 

ain’t that odd, though? ⋱


               .                      .

                              ∴                                      .                                                 

( it’s almost funny)

   how the beauty and the money.   °      ✧    . •
            ◦    seem to have initiated an inertial, maybe even
                 gravitational, pull around one another
                 like a chain reaction → a constellation of big.   
                dippers and little dippers           °              .       o        .  
      .          ✧     .     







              *     i loved *u dearly.    *         .               •

                         •                      . 

       *              tidally love locked forever in a memory  .               •

                      of a perfect autumn evening draping starshine

                 •.   sky high before midnight counting all the skyscrapers

                      or drinking in the day time along the High Line. .          ✧    

.                              *                           .

                                                We would’ve,







                                                                          s    .

                                                                           l               .

                                                                              o           .

                                                                                   w   *


                                                                                                   .                in

                                                                                                        .                          s

                                                                                                              .                              l    

                                                                                                                      .                      o          

                                                                                                            .       w

. c

           s        .     *       i         
 *            ✧     . r
  e                .      c



      t              d                      a

                   s         u            *and                        p

                                                         we                      s      

                                                               still    all

                                                                                  ↝   might,

                                                                                          we’re             if *u

                                                                                                       when                     want

                                                                                                              (day                         to,
                                                                                                                      some              *u)
                                                                                                                          know,   ◞

                                                                                                                                  (or whenever…)



◜   .      

 ↘    .       



                         *six pm

Photo: Paige Six | April 2020

Before the Autumn reaps, don’t you believe that tree’s leaves would enjoy knowing the feeling of reaching and holding another’s branches? All the while these trees cannot conceive of such things.

I like to envision the brain of a dandelion as it tenderly caresses the faces of other dandelions. Before the wind sweeps away with their heads spreading each one’s likeness across distant lands. I bet they’d hold on to one another, these seeds, to the seeds of their lovers hoping to exist together upon the reaches of greener grass.

It’s not unlike me to marvel at what a miracle consciousness is. How lucky we are to share it despite all of its pains. All the while these dandelions might never see their own likenesses the way I can divine myself reflected back in my child’s smiling eyes. It’s such a blessing to conceive of such things. -six pm | *when I think of Julia

Paige Six | 2021