Fibonacci
Numbers
Always seemed
So damn
perfect.
They are so
starkly irregular,
So dependably
irrational in their quest for infinity.
If phi is my
favorite number, if a spiral is my favorite shape,
Is it possible
that my thoughts are spelled out in long and complex, curving sequences of one,
one, two, three, five?
Is it possible
that my path in life will be a line twisting at one hundred and thirty-seven
point five degrees, brushing the golden edges of ever widening rectangles as
they expand into space?
Or is my
obsession with patterns only the symptom of a mind too number based to accept
the unpredictability of reality?
Should I stop
counting clouds because I know they’ll never form cohesive sequences?
Maybe life’s
meant to be qualified, not quantified.
Still, my head
wonders: Is
The world
logarithmic,
Or is
It
Binary?
XXX--
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