New Math

In the sixth grade I learned to count

In base seven,

From yellow printshop bound experimental textbooks

Tested on us

By the School Mathematics Study Group.

We wrote seven squared plus seven plus two as 112.

 

A touring outdoor exhibit came through town,

Parked in our local strip mall by the Army, Navy,

Air Force and Marines.  At its heart was a full scale

Gunmetal replica of Big Boy,

The Nagasaki atomic bomb.

 

I climbed up on it, using handholds courteously welded

To the bomb casing in an exercise of public good will.

No sevens here, only one--one ponderous mass

Maker of zero.

 

One--from one and from zero I heard

Peano's postulates explained

Meticulously

A few years later in a Berkeley summer workshop

Put on by Pentagon money,

To harvest the choicest fruit

Of California's New Math youth.

 

All of the countable universe unraveled

From the barest minimum of starting assumptions.

Giuseppe Peano started with nothing but

One and

Zero;

Bertrand Russell found here the roots of his work.

 

That was the summer Ted Kaczynski arrived at Berkeley

His lecture a plodding nothing I no longer recall;

His subsequent outpouring a tight-lipped blast

Spat out against the fructile tempest of technospace.

 

Zeros and ones become bits and bytes

Become networks of discourse unselective

Even the Unabomber Manifesto finding eternal

Sanctuary in the global web spun of

Nothing

And unity.

 

Cyberspace is base ten grafted on base two

The hundred year calendar of Roman time

Expected to make millennial mud

As 99 rolls over to a retrograde 00.

 

Does nature, or maybe our Sabbath-conditioned mind

(Jung's Collective Unconscious)

Speak in base seven?

Seven squared years to the day

After Alamogordo

(So big for our britches; so puny are the

Gadgets

Of man)

The first fragments

Born from rupture of the Schumacher-Leyy comet

Tore Earth-sized holes in the atmosphere of Jupiter,

Each outshining all energy ever released by human endeavor.

 

I notice things like that.  Will I spread it

All over the Net?  No way--they'll put two and

Forty-nine together and think I'm from Area 51.

This New Math isn't for figuring--it's for poems.

 

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