A funny thing happened when I started writing my poem for today. Halfway through a different poem said, “No, write me instead!”

A true tale….

---

I once read a book
where every distinct idea
received its own line,
prose as poem,
purposefully presenting them
in bite-sized pieces.

I remember it because
at sixteen years
I learned about infinity
this way, how
one infinity can be bigger than another.
Before this, I had thought
"Infinity is just Infinity,"
never dreaming 
"it" should be "they,"
never considering 
they could be quantified 
(kind of).

"Think of all the numbers on a number line,
how they go on to Infinity.
Call it Set A.
What if we add one to Set A?
Call it Set B. 
Set B must be bigger!"

"Think how a number line goes from Zero to One.
If you go halfway from One to Zero,
then halfway again, 
and so on:
obviously you'll never get to Zero.
It's an Infinity, but...
since it's contained between Zero and One,
just as obviously it's smaller 
than the infinities we discussed with Sets A and B."

My mind was blown. No
wonder I took psychotropics.
What else could I do to 
fill the spaces it had made?

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23/100