On the Brink of Vindicating Human Impulse

What else should we do today, today?
What edifice needs to sway, to sway?
What can we discover to say, to say?
What are the right words to allay, allay
our fear of the chaos and weigh, and weigh
the thing that will comfort and stay, and stay?

(rhyming gecko
with an echo
of a gecko)

Sounds are just as sure as can be –
rounds of melba toast – jam and tea –
why not chortle a symphony
of chewing and assonance, panoply
of the orally aurally Grand Opry –
Country-and-Western-style bonhomie?

(rhyming quick
with a click
and a lick)

If everything has to do with sex
no wonder these vagaries all perplex
and all of us labor inside the hex
of unchosen fetishes, Oedipus Rex
and documents signed with an X, an X –
anonymous, shadowed and queer: convex –

(rhyming pet
with a jet
of beget)

There must surely by now be a right thing to do
after tossing this folderol into the stew
of perversely attempting to misconstrue
the purposes of blinding us to the True
and frankly, my darling, I might have a clue –
and I dare to imagine that you’ve got one, too.


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