Impelled by measurement
a bad man, Stagolee knocks Diogenes to the ground, and
Diogenes begs a little like:
“Stagolee, Stagolee,
please don’t take my life;
I’ve got some theorems still to work out
and a lovely lovin wife”


Stagolee gives him back “why need I concern over
your theorems and your lovely lovin wife;
your means of solving those larger needs of land management
ain’t never going to earn — I’m bound to take your life”


Over a body with a bullet though its eye
Stag mutters:


“Your stars leave me unsatisfied
and the proposition ‘all’s of atmosphere’
isn’t much to calculate;
there is proportions, and
the angle of deflection;
there’s geographic boundaries and
property divisions;
there’s need for practical ways of
figuring perpendiculars
without the outer joints of the thumb, or the length of a stride.
What of how far off ships at sea? What of
my hope for superimpose-ments repeatedly,
without breaks or overlapping”


Oh cruel Stagolee, you’re a bad man
even if you’re right