Monday, June 19, 2017

In Abject Terror, Aimless Flight

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

You’re no robotic product of polarities:
you cannot buy such idiot analyses

or premises like “opposites attract”;
you know they void each other out, attack

complacently, embrace the lame cliché
which gives dichotomy such sway,

and makes us cleave to black or white,

believe in abject terror, aimless flight

so that we 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 sniff and jot and tittle –
cause, effect, sensation, big or little –

in our infinitely savory eternal stew.
But still I can't think what accounts for you.


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