Reading Belles Lettres in Front of Infinity

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uKM7qmKu6Ik

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Okay, let’s opine for the sake of opining
we each have an incontrovertible soul.
Why do we picture it soulless, refining

itself into purity, like a divine crystal bowl

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from which no mortal lips will have sipped,

much less guzzled until they were drunk from

what life was created to slip them: get ripped

by the cracks of the whips and the funk from

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the actual – not strain to contain the invisible

putative Essence of our raison-d’être, 
as if that were factual? Where has our risible
Regent vamoosed to? Reading belles lettres
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in front of Infinity, hoping at last for response?

Surrounded by all of his glazed-over ghosts

(what happened to cool, where was the Fonz?)

to which He, She, They, It were the hosts?

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I’d rather eat stuffing

from chairs made of rat hair

than spend an Eternity bluffing

I hadn’t a place in my mind for despair.

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My brokennesses make me whole.

Can’t think of one I would want to perfect.

If mysteriously I encounter A Soul

I shall counsel it seriously to defect.

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