Portrait en Précis

In the micro, so the macro – dead-eyed
mackerel tells the tale – stinking
with a bright effulgence which bespeaks
the whole: ancient coupling of the male
and female and the slimy fertile ovum
from which somehow this ichthyic life for
some few years would manage to prevail –

before it landed in a pail: extract its pupil
and look in and be instructed in
the Big Bang ways of ingenuity and sin
with which Existence plays compulsively –
such passionate indifference! Here is
the befuddlement: how out of all this
muddlement design and breath concur.

We are little specks of thing from which
the narcissistic Infinite appears to want
to bring more urgent proof that it
and we and mackerels exist, and will exist –
and have existed. Seems a little twisted:
pretending there's an Other that can see.
“Look at me!” Portrait en précis.


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