Gwen Dolyn, with inner steel eyes and a piercing smile, lived inside sea shells. She was a Midwesterner, a caring soul, a nurturing mother, cheerful and engaging with an encouraging heart, and her laughter was full of balm for hurt pride. There are two parts to her story. The first, a smiling woman who turned the world into the shape of sorghum; the second, poverty in silk stockings and piles of goods ready to wrap.

Gwen’s boy enjoyed life and was able to express profound love freely through affection for others. His personhood was imbued by faith, steeped in emotion. He said to us, “Their womanhood, their childhood, their manhood, the neighborhood.”

Math is Exploration. Mike is me. Math untangles. Numerals are vertically rectangular … why not horizontally as well? Curves are just decimals contracting in Zen; how did the lines beat the binary in decimal sanitation? Faith, man. Women can do whatever they want and you’ll like it because they love you. In situ. Like you like to.

Gravity is pulling time back into space. Listen to the girl in Saint Hood, by the Dawn’s early childhood, a tribute to Two-Decimal, Twelvecimal, Federico escuela con mijo, such curvilinear shapes that shift rather than exist, Leather Go slow and dry. Elevencimal circularity in Portland, hoodies and clowns.