You

Oblique Response to Seeing “Bruno”

Given all that I’ve been told is true,
I can’t imagine what accounts for you.

I grumble at the cul-de-sac of death,
dissatisfied its flip side should be breath –

which is to say, perturbed at the cliché
which seems to give dichotomy such sway,

as if the Universe could be bisected:
as if we weren’t badly misdirected

by being told the choice was black or white –
as if through terror of our unseen flight

we have to conjure up the certainty
that only through some granted mercy, we

can make the trip to paradise. But why,
through tossing up this pair of dice, should I

believe that any outcome must occur?
Choosing new dimensions, I prefer

to think the barest whim, velleity
directly proves simultaneity

of every little squiff and jot and tittle –
cause, effect, sensation, big or little –

one bubbling savory eternal stew.
What else could possibly account for you?

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