Today’s the Day

Today’s the day

to roundelay around

the pounds and ounces

of your joyfulness.

Toy with it and pull it –

make a mess.










.

Some Volupté

Today, it’s true,

you felt so good

there were no words

you knew that could

remotely have

described you.

Some volupté

imbibed you.







.

Buckshot

Tethered as you have to be

to provenance –

to roots you can’t deny supply you

with the whole of what contrives you –

how strange to find you’re stunned

by what you are.

Knowing you’ve been gunned

like buckshot from some ancient

vast exploding star

explains exactly nothing of the reverie

you’ve now become.

Best, if you are asked about it,

to play dumb.








.

Something We Will Never See

She bottles up her essence

like a large expensive jar of beauty cream –

elaborate and jeweled and enameled –

to secrete the luridly untrammeled dream

of who she knows herself to be.

Something we will never see.










.

i.e.,

Photons ignite

the sight –

invite shadow

and color and light

that an ocular organ

can see –

but leave out the best

of the panoply:

i.e., most of the rest

of what’s there.

But we don’t

apparently care.

.

Some Things, All Things

Some things fly in,

don’t last long.

Al things fly in,

don’t last long.











.

His Quarry

He’d long stopped talking to prevail,

or for the fun of it.

The quarry he was trying to regale

was having none of it.










.