Now You’ve Gone and Done It

Oh dear.
Now you’ve gone

and done it.
Propagated progeny.

Allowed ontogeny
to recapitulate phylogeny.

Was that
entirely astute?

Oh well.
At least it’s cute.








.

The Season of Suicidal Chickens

Who asked

to be here?

Weeks away
from the infernal
vernal equinox –

fat Tuesday’s
spent: it came
and went.

Bewilderment
will not relent.

Gray mornings.
Ticking clocks.

Chickens
fantasize
about a fox.





.

Analysis of the Shebang

To effect analysis

of the shebang
round up the gang
and dress them up

for Mardi Gras
but tell them they

can’t go until they’ve

done their algebra.

“What algebra?”
they will complain.
“Exactly!”
you’ll explain.







.

Eye to Eye

Soul wants

to encounter you
eye to eye:

open up
your solipsism
to its psychic sky:

get about
the business
of replacing why

with what –
embracing and
not but.







.

Like the Brothers Karamazov, Only Different

Though they entirely lack rhythm,

three exasperating aspects
of your latest psychic schism
clomp around and dance and yell
until you think you’ll lose your mind.
Which is, of course, absurd
since they amount to all the mind
you currently can find – and they’re

not going anywhere. You think sweet
thoughts: perhaps they’ll sense you
care and they’ll stop being raucous.
But they keep up the ruckus.
“Don’t like it? Fuck us.”
It’s gone from worse to worst.
You think you’ll burst. And yet
you don’t. You guess you won’t.






.

This Intramural Sport of Thinking

Playing fast and loose –

cavorting with morphology –
is only part of it:
this intramural sport of thinking

in late afternoon.
while lying down,
attuned to dim late winter air –
gazing upward,

with your glasses off,
at rare myopic visions
which assume unconscious
light is naturally part of sight:

its mixtures and bold certainties –
its brave exposures –
curtains ripped wide open
on enfolding limbs and faces;

heads and fingers lingering
a moment – point to – hold –
new suppositions –
briefer in this ether

than the clunky calculations
you had labored over lately –
just this morning –
under rude fluorescent

lamps. Everything revamps:
regales. Color is outrageously
correct: until you get up,
and it pales.





.

Pat Hangs Out With Vinny

Pat hangs out

with Vinny.
Pat is fat,
Vinny’s skinny.

Vinny sits upon
Pat’s thigh.
We’re not really
certain why.







.