I have wondered how hard the task might be---
to write, and publish, bad geometry:
to turn from postulates and common signs
of computation toward inchoate lines;
to break the whole in preference for the part---
and call it "the effusions of my heart,
"from which all of my written efforts come,"
and this promotes only a zero sum,
in which all bad geometers take pride
in dubious results that quickly slide---
like an invigorated parody---
into that bottomless pit, Travesty,
that suffocates all forms of artistry.
And yes, this poem presents metonomy.
Starward