The unending value of pi

You may seize day if you can.
By evening song, it slips away

And goes in some body else’s,
Some body else’s etc, etc, etc.

The etc’s pile on like pi’s value
Beyond edges of poetry pages.

Their pi is never closing thing
Those who never die a poem

Before they seize their carpe
By collar and give it a shake

And metaphors arrive where
Their parallel rail lines meet.

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