i. c

Reading physics as philosophy changes
the mechanics of sex, you said; time shifts
and loses the limitation of skin.

Imagine another dimension, perpendicular
to the rest; the whole becomes the surface, in
and out turn into within and without; oh, right
it's mostly mathematics, but let go of that, we don't need
details now. Can you see it? Can you feel it?

Silence crosses the telephone line: three hours ahead
you wait for me to cover the distance in
"Time?" I ask. "Wasn't the fourth dimension supposed to be time?"

You laugh. Then sex would have to happen all at once.
Forget time. It's only an analogy, anyway.

ii. ch

It's all Julia's fault. I can do the math: graph the planes,
grasp non-corporeal cross-sections of space and time
with iterative equations of complex numbers, program infinity
appearing endlessly in Mandelbrot sets: dream in detailed color.

I have followed you into a science that barely exists
on a life raft of numbers; I hold maps I've created
in my hands, but I cannot swim in your direction.

Can you see it? Can you feel it?
"No."
Not yet.
It's harder than you make it sound.

iii. cha

You are a strange attractor. Lorenz had no idea.
I arrived in Boston blinking at snow where I'd left green

and wondering if I'd finally taken something on faith.
That time, you were the responsible one:

Give this list of Internet sites to Dan. Don't forget.
Later, of course, we realized you'd been tying up loose ends.

iv. chao

flannel-sheeted voice and rumpled life
hands covered with curiosity
Try this. Just try it.

I don't know what will happen. I don't.

v. chaos

an abstraction
pulled out
of an abandoned
refrigerator
far too long
after you crawled
inside
shut the door
/died

Cynthia Newcomer



Cynthia Newcomer is a poet and writer living in the Hudson Valley region of New York State. She has been published extensively in the field of computer education and is currently dividing her time between her children and her first novel. In her spare time she enjoys quilting, gardening and lace-making.