Philip Larkin's Koan

In the perfect universe of math it’s said the world’s eternal aberration. In fact, we should be less than dead, math itself disrupted for matter ever to be read as real. A thought so hard to fathom that The Nation in its article on math has said we lack the right imagination: the human head will not subtract itself from the equation, zero out the eager ego to be less than dead. Did the numbers hunger for mistake, for fun upend themselves to recalculate our infinite extinction? And was existence meant for all, since it could be said without our numbers others might have thrived: the black rhinoceros, shortnose sturgeon—? Articles of horn and scale both less and more than dead, figurative dreams that now haunt us in our beds. Memory’s another flaw in our equation. Was it The Nation? I forget. Regardless, I know that someone said in a perfect universe, we’d all be dead.