Before your day goes, catch it
And hold in your shirt pocket

You may seize  day if you can.
By evening song, it slips away

And goes in some body else’s,
Some body else’s etc, etc, etc.

The etc’s pile on like pi’s value
Beyond edges of poetry page.

Polish poet calls it a pageant
In the traditions of old poets

Whose pi is never closing thing
They who never die of poem

Before they seize their carpe
By collar and give it a shake

The metaphors arrive where
Their parallel rail lines meet.

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