Falling over like a fool,
For a fire winter-cool,
With no shadows, wet and cold,
Laying wall consumed by mould.
Name it charm, or name it ploy,
Its attempt to copy joy.
Desolation shaped in sphere,
Longing edges of its peer
Of the shape that fails to dare;
Squares stay fixed and never care.
Name it charm, or name it ploy,
Its attempt to copy joy.
Still it turns above the pull,
Still it bends, of wonders full,
Still a curve that rolls and learns
Of a line that never turns.
What was named a joy before
Now it floods and drowns the core.
Name it charm, or name it ploy,
Its attempt to copy joy.
What a cruel, quiet ploy;
Bleeding meaning out of joy.
Even laughter feels a toy,
For the echo to destroy.
Call it balance, call it art;
Circles break on corners sharp.
Name it charm, or name it ploy,
Its attempt to copy joy.
Every circle comes apart
On the corners of a heart.
So forget the why of π,
Let the perfect numbers lie.
Name it charm, or name it ploy,
Its attempt to copy joy.
All is shaped in shades of nay,
All is perfect; all is clay.
Say goodbye; no need to try.
Say it once, and let it die.