This is the official blog of Northern Arizona slam poet Christopher Fox Graham. Begun in 2002, and transferred to blogspot in 2006, FoxTheBlog has recorded more than 1.6 million views since 2009. This blog cover's Graham's poetry, the Arizona poetry slam community and offers tips for slam poets from sources around the Internet. Read CFG's full biography here. Looking for just that one poem? You know the one ... click here to find it.

Saturday, February 21, 2026

"Math & Magic" by Christopher Fox Graham



"Math & Magic"

by Christopher Fox Graham
Oct. 13, 2025

math explains everything
the billiard balls of atoms
the push and pull of stars’ gravity.
the geometry of moons and planets
here are no questions in the dark
we know light down to the meter
constant for all observers at all times

quarks and bosons
behave so regularly

they are quantum entangled across the universe
even beneath event horizons of black holes
where the math bends back on itself,
time and space invert
the math is consistent
but to reach the singularity to see if we’re wrong
will take an eternity
and we don't have the time

the tick tock of time is binary
future now future now
always forward, never in reverse
one directional in a three-dimensional space

we are math in Base 4
adenine, thymine, guanine and cytosine
dance in infinite chains in every cell
from archaeon to sequoia
bacterium to blue whale
eukaryote to you

all your decisions are T-A-C-G reacting
G-T-A-C conversing in symphonic exaltations
C-G-A-T firing synapses of memory and thought
a trillion conversations in a cell
a trillion cells in a body
C-G-A-T-G-T-A-C-G … to infinity

the equations are complex
the mathematics monumental
but the outcome is predictable
if you know the math

before poetry, I wanted to be an astrophysicist
to study the grand scale of math in the cosmos
calculate if the stars were where we mapped them
bending to the calculations in our dissertations

I wanted the heavens
because the math down here on earth 
is so simple:
given the initial variables,
the conclusion was known
history is a repeat in new uniforms
adults equations to anticipate and counter
leaders pushing and pulling people in predictable patterns
every government, a grown child
fighting over toys
offended by meanies and bullies
lashing out when offended

and every love affair was science
first hello, first kiss, first night
after enough bedpost notches
why bother investing in the story
when you know the last chapter?
when the mathematics were clear
knowing how the relationship would end

science is repeating the same experiment
and getting the same results

but I didn’t account for magic
because I didn’t know it before her


she knows music 
the progression of chords over space and time
the arrangement of instruments
when to play hard tones and softness
but confined to these bodies
even innovation has its limitations

she learned the mathematics
could play Chopin and Schubert from memory
stretch her tiny hands
across Rachmaninoff’s eleven keys
admiring the passion and the complexity
with which he composed
she made music into magic

we collided on the sidewalk
halfway between newsroom and crystal shop
where I dissected the world for easier consumption
and she channeled the universe
me, planning every footfall
to seem non-chalant
she, an allegro improvisation
a manic-pixie dream girl
who shattered that archetype
every chance she had

she conjures magics her movements
she can play me like a concerto
dancing her fingers across my skin
beneath the anodyne arithmetic

there's no formula to counter her
no constant to calculate
no equation to balance the scales
mathematic or melodic
eight years on, I’m still out of my league
playing boxed-in chess
all the options predicted and calculated
trying to anticipate her next move
while she’s swirling in aerial silks
above the board
adding new pieces or spinning the table
variables changing as her hair color
henna red and electric blue
she leaves me spinning in a coda
repeating the same moment
until she comes in on cue
to her own bear

we co-authored three Haikus
Contrarian, Capricious and Chaos,
half magic and math
a quotient of imaginary and irrational numbers
a jazz trio
with a damage deposit
impossible to anticipate
every bit their mother
and somehow part of me


and she somehow still loves this computation
still trying to solve her quadratics
find her prime number solution
but she has more moves than chess
which not even all the atoms in the universe
can count
but I try
because math should explain everything

“silly mister” she says
and kisses me again
the only answer I can find

"If Horses Have Gods" by Christopher Fox Graham



"If Horses Have Gods"

by Christopher Fox Graham
Oct. 13, 2025

Close your eyes
and imagine your death
not midnight
or silence
but a ceasing

no afterlife or echo

nothing beyond your last moment

eternal dark is too terrifying to accept
so we imagine something beyond
the Fields of Auru, 

the Elysian Plain, 

the halls of Valhalla

a heavenly kingdom


so like this place
that they could not possibly be real

we impose order on the chaos
sanity on an unforgiving world
suspended in a sunbeam
in the distant arm of galaxy
of 400 billion silent stars
utterly indifferent to our noise

with no one to listen,
we manufactured our own
someone who understands
as we would understand

our first fiction was filmmaking
projecting humanity into the heavens

if horses have gods,
they look like horses

our gods are upright apes

our ancestors, who art in history,
hallowed be your names;
Mitochondrial Eve
and Y-chromosomal Adam
deliver us from the evil
we visit on each other
pass down wisdom through time
how to hunt, to forage, to build,
to bear children and bury our dead
remembering those before
in hopes we too would not be forgotten



we deified a tribal protector,
the embodiment of our people
then then city-state namesake
the hero of myth
immense and immortal
but doomed to our same follies

finally the protagonists of books
passing down the rules and morals
so this loose civilization 
doesn’t fall apart:
don’t covet your brother
don’t eat the bad shellfish
don’t murder your neighbor
don’t rebel against the king
if poor, don’t steal
if rich, don’t be greedy
if enslaved, don’t rebel
don't upset the status quo
don't fight the system
don't rebel,
don't rebel
or else the universe will kill you

before it kills you 
anyway

say these things,
do these things
at the appointed time
to mark you "loyal" to the order

darwinian evolution on a grand scale
to keep stability
so we don’t extinct ourselves

individually, though, we are islands
so we build monuments
craft art
and tell stories
of what it means to be us
and what it means to be me
and not you
so you might understand me
remember me when I am gone
and maybe, become a better you

12,000 generations lived and died
to bring you and us to this moment
here, now
a billion decisions
made by a million dead grandparents
who bred and survive
to set this stage
every choice you made
from first heart thump in your mother
to opening that door
manufactured this moment
brought you here tonight

13 billion years sacrificed themselves to time
for these 180 seconds

but time is short
language inefficient
so we stretch and pull
words into the best order
to best paint wisdom worth remembering

a million different tongues wiped out
before cities, parchment or ink
could preserve them
we only speak a thousand
but not one ever lacked poetry

we condense wisdom into breath
articulation into art
make it dance like a tornado across your skin
tango passion into your subconscious
salsa syncopated staccato stanzas
into your spine
hip-hop breaking beats into bones

the universe was born without purpose
blind to every life it snuffed out
since the Earth made this orbit our home

but we will make these three minutes
the reason the Big Bang
banged into existence

our stories, our sins and salvations
isn’t wordplay

this isn't supposed to pretty or safe or kind

this is raw humanity unfiltered, uncut

poured into shot glasses of time

this is divinity manifest

this is something sacred

this stage is Holy Ground

when a poet speaks on this mic,

death has no dominion

there is no god but mankind,
and you are its prophet,

peace be upon you
but “prophet” is just “poet”
with too many letters
so poets, edit your work
our ancestors deserve the effort

when a good poem lands
let it wash over you
let the words settle in your psyche
let electricity tingle your backbone
what you feel
is not any faraway god
but connection across this space
across time to all the poets
who have told their stories
at poetry slams, open mics,
soapboxes, pulpits, altars
back to caves and campfires
when the human race
was no bigger than this room
know you’re not alone

spit your story on this mic
why you are here now
not your chair, but your skin

the only blasphemy here 
is silence

you have a story to tell
we want to know you
become worth remembering