Those hands on the cover, they're the only indulgence—
the papers, an orgy of bound-tightening,
unique-neighbor expanders, bounded-depth Frege,
,
we need to argue for the case when
—
The hands reach upward,
palms turned, exultant in their certitude but
trembling also.
Three fingers on the left, two on the right,
sport pointed tips,
from which sprout the sinuous tails of
spermatozoa,
drawn to an octahedral ovum made of cubes,
suspended, midair, beneath the architecture of
the infinite.
The science section at Cody's—
Consciousness in Four
Dimensions
Quantum Evolution
Chaos, Creativity, and Cosmic
Consciousness
If after thirty years' work you cleaved NP from P
such books would still be written as today
and would find a dozen readers
for every one who knew what you had done.
And still—poor bastards—some would fall
into the preposterous grip
of those hands
that reach for eternity
one lemma at a
time.