a mathematical poem

there's this girl who's photographed herself from 100 angles over almost 100 days. do we love her for who she be or what she wain't?

(so arrogant that i'll probably jack off again
all over the ocean and seeping down into the sands underneath
and into the core of the planet,
making the earth pregnant
and swelling its belly with the demon child of impatience, lust, self-pity and coffee and booze.)

she gon give all her secrets away,
but she forgot, boy.
still wearing that nasty nasty black eye phlegm
it encircles her moist (dishonest, but vulnerable) cameras.
secrets stored in the domed pockets of zits
rather than escaping the mouth to a kind ear.
we are definitely alone
but at the same time, connected.
who is she to be so self-indulgent
and who am i to judge her?

soon enough, we'll all make it to our
personal hell, or
personal heaven
and maybe they're really the same, separated only by a slight tweak in imaginings.
crystals, after all,
reflect all kinds of light:
it shoots off in many directions at many frequencies like long, thin spikes.
hell from heaven.
purgatory, it seems, is a hilariously nonexistent concept
and that we are all suffering and having orgasms
simultaneously
continuously
and for eternity.
one eternal moment equals one infinite lifespan of recurring sex and death.
and soon
sex and death don't seem so different
it's like a right foot vs. a left foot
and suddenly you cross your eyes, and they become one foot
reflexively equivalent
coursing through your veins and inflating your skull to terrifying proportions, until you, too, simultaneously come and die.

of course, you're too busy striving for banality to notice.
how couldn't you strive for banality?
such a sensible route. such a reasonable cause.

her picture said "flawless" but instantly i noticed that one of her teeth was misaligned and she had an unsightly bump on the side of her face.
oops.
perhaps beauty that doesn't dress itself up,
or make excuses -
honest beauty -
is the best kind of beauty.
besides:
"flawless" implies no tragedy, no betrayal, no terror, no irony, no unmanageably massive influx of information or feelings.

where's the beauty in that?