numbers do not the soul touch
or rouse from depths of reverie
whose shallow sepulchral beauty
surface deep revelations aplenty
plead with matrimonial vows
parchment scribbles & ceremonies
do not a marriage make and
neither will ice cream make us
any colder after calories kick in
poetry’s soul may ride its form
but it transcends empirical parts
its triumph: Pinocchio shedding his strings