Everything here was unlikely once
And you, too, complex, inevitable,
Were once improbable, like quanta,
Who knew that in your secret self
You alternate, like some gargantuan muon,
Between depravity and grace
That you’re Judas and Jesus in one,
And that, somehow,
Impinged by the world,
The edges draw in and split the difference.
And you, ordinary, sublime,
Show your outer face to the world.
Who knew you would rather be
One or the other of your demi-selves?
We live so that graveyards
May be full of forgotten worries
We strive so that our hopes and fears
Will lie with us as our essence
Bleeds into the indifferent clay
The bits and pieces of our living
Drift out into the vagrant air
To be reborn in the yet unguessed
Strivings of the yet unknown
Leaving some vague imprint
On the great entropic vastness
A brace of haiku to weave into your dreams.
We are sparrows, you and I,
And all the rest of them, too,
Picking at life’s slab of suet
In the garden
An old man rakes gravel
And now, a bit of silliness…
Conversation is an exchange of concepts.
Conversion is a change of concept.
Is a merge of concepts,
Except the perception of the
Conception is deceptively dubious.
Would it be convenient to
Convene a convention to
Consider the context of the
I dreamt Barriss Mills was Ogden Nash…
Oh, so round and hard to please
Rather like enormous peas
Big leathery living flaps
Curled about like sailors’ caps
Neither dry nor fully wet,
And green, so very green, and yet,
Despite the sheerness of their mass
Who knew inside was so much gas?