Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Research Methodology

You'd think that
I drank poetry like wine
in the past few months, or
smoked up words in billowy
cigarette rings. That
all my sentences will be uncomplicated,
that all those months of research
and objectivity
have made me responsible.

Your large bevy of data
is now smoothening out my jagged edges.
My storyteller instincts so removed from
your pivot-tables, your bar graphs, your multi-coloured columns;
my anecdata under your scalpel, everyday,
between 10 to 5
mondays through saturdays.

I take two portions of triangulation
with my afternoon coffee; I eat numbers for breakfast.
I drape dependent variables like a shawl to keep warm.

Your baseline cuts through me like a knife,
sharp, quick,
like the cold November rain.

After dinner, however,
the numbers begin to dwindle.
Poetry - untested, unexplored, uncharted -
comes in waves, it does not stop.

I won't sleep tonight.

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