If I fail to contradict myself,
It’s because I’m small,
My multitudes have fled
For better quarters
Among the heebie-jeebies,
The great Coalition of the Willful,
Squabbling interminably
For the sheer joy of it.

These days it’s not enough
To be inconsistent, but it must
Be done with a vengeance,
With a truculence matched only
By contempt for all
That is reconcilable.

I’ve heard it said that
We are but shadows
Of some inescapable ambiguity,
And to pretend otherwise
Is pathetic.
So say the shadows.