Sunday, November 20, 2016

Cuckoos Clucking Ding and Dong

Inexorable and illusory.
time always makes a goose of me.
I don’t believe in it, and yet
I owe its tricks and tocks a debt.

Clocks promulgate a calm –
indeed may lend the only balm
sufficient to allay our fear
that chaos is the ruling queer

egregious motor of Existence.
So I will practice my persistence
in accepting it’s enough that linearity  
and sequence are in parity

with all that might as well be true –
although I never will be able to
escape the arid fact
that Is-ness isn’t backed

by logical fiat. Mindless flow,
schizophrenic stop and go.
cuckoos clucking ding and dong.
Unless I'm wrong. I’m often wrong.


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