Though it’s retroactive Christmas pugilism here it’s
generosity in other places so forgive the substitute
stepfather as he knows not what to dream, as canine
is to feline as pie is to cake, as one’s created in
God’s image, one’s created in God’s image in
reverse, a purse of cursive pitches, suffering, safari
and so far so good. I’m within spitting distance of
an ethos and can prove it. May the molecules
amend the motions of their molecules, their forces
intricately prodigal or simply squandered, almost
nominated twice. When etching rectangles on
simulated surfaces, they read the wrong directions
or the right ones wrongly. Blessed are the wrestlers
for they take no shortcuts, ask no favors and foresee
no need to reason.

Syllogism 5

Collectibles would be collectible ’til every human
had one. Carpenter’s and burglar’s tools would be
distinguished by intent, to wit, the time of day, the
color of the perpetrator’s clothes. I would have been
a Buddhist but for conscious sweeping or have had
an ID on a lanyard in a plastic sleeve. As I invented
many clarinets and almost won the Nobel Peace
Prize twice, the opposite of fun and profit would
include both fun and loss. Anticipating double
dealing I would have a graceful segue ready,
cartilage and sinew too. To predators, I’m shocking
or I’m toxic—just one taste of me completes a
circuit or induces a hallucination. A
hallucination, one Samaritan invalidates another,
saying, My vote cancels yours.

In Which I Kick the Tires

The data were so unequivocal I didn’t think to ask,
How unequivocal were they? I had both paths
parameterized and cataclysms happened only in my
absence. Now warts may be wings. The brevity
humanity, the summer storm the shadow and the
dragonfly, the murder weapon but an icicle and
fingerprints and thermal mass. The icicle is not
your enemy. The icicle is independent: one’s a
donor; one’s anonymous. They’re flying off the
shelves as items, as the other items simultaneously
are enumerated, denigrated and possessed. My lines
of sight are intersecting at a point of order, Mr.
Speaker, as in magnifying glasses seconded
emotions are not tabled. Zero is no absolute. My
eyes are on the front side of my face. The former
sergeant at arms is an FBI informant. Who will be
the sergeant at arms now?

It’s the Thought That Discounts

The hand is random whether on deck or composed
of playing cards, of read or read and weep. The
bible study group has commandeered the corner
coffee shop so may the celebration of the senses
and the flesh commence. Your prophecies align
with my attention span. I sleepwalk past the Plain
of Jars. Its cornea irregular, the moon is bibbed or
bearded and has ears. But one can drive a truck
through five of seven founding fathers’ private
utterances. Bodies on two operating tables, which
of you is vacant, which is mine? Third person
squared, nine hands on each of ten pianos, half step,
half step, Simon says that Simon says that Simon
says, The shadows wanting sun are functional once
lungs, once lungs are cleared to land.

Free the Aegis!

The faces in the made-up mirror nearer than they
seem, the pores pour over, naming poisons,
implementing dreams. The one’s abundance is the
other’s lack. The eyes of Texas are the windows of
the windows of block walls. The amplitude of
oscillation asymptotically approaches zero. As
bones will be bones and not just for the nonce, in
cubic corners may they wear their pointed hats. As
biorhythm gone awry, I’m asking more. The source
is not the course. Placebos grow on trees. The
source is not the course. Placebos grow on trees.