Geometry

is useless. Spare me all

the tales of your precision—

either type of compass

is in err. There’s always

someone drafting

swollen circles, someone there to

offer wayward routes.

Why are both poles swamped in

ice? The extremes of

north & south

like Left & Right—

either one is fascist

when it's drastic.

Lines that hug & kiss

on the ellipse.

Straight is no straighter than

gay. Even in the rainbow

it’s a beeline—every hive

a spectrum taking

flight. What we call red is

green. Try it out

in traffic. There is

no vice in versa. Think outside

of sand. A backhoe

claws the blue

empyrean.

Pisa’s spiralled stairs?

The quintessential

Euclidean

thought. A helix

shies away from

tapered arrows—

a snake who’s forever

known that it’s

the rest of Earth in

slant, sotted like an

alley filled with gin,

every brick a dungeon,

a Garden going this way,

Knowledge going that.

Andreas Gripp

June 1, 2026

Image by Yoshi Sodeoka