“Neither can we call this a begging of misery” --John Donne
Inside her, the storm raged
Birds, crazy with desire, swoop into vision
Turn the world up-side-down
Disappear before nonsense becomes truth
The dogs see it all in black and white
& never pay it any mind.
Books can’t explain it. Not this one, nor any other
Yet the universal “we try” suffice,
and yes, we can dream of peace.
Imagine a world, a utopia, somewhere above or below
Just beyond the flight of the phoenix
Where children start out as physics models.
They parade down the time line from paradise
Bless post-menopausal teachers with knowing smiles.
Recreate virginity with time machine travel
as miraculous as the birds flying through tales before
they happen. Sound multidimensional musical
notes of precarious adventure,
Pictures of eyes see the light,
Winds dim the starlight enough to curve space,
Turn a mountain into an Einstein thought experiment
just long enough to stop the sun.
Was it three hours or three days? Damn the oral tradition
and the rhyme scheme for fun.
Apparently, reality is our parent
contrived to make boredom less troubling than insanity.
Roundabout stories satisfying ineptitude
Called out for awards on Saturday morning cartoons,
return the flamingos for Sunday worship,
enticing adolescents to find solace in apple pie.
HL is a computer-nerd bicyclist who cranks out poetry as he rides along prairie grass and gravel roads. He says, "War is not the Answer / Ride a Bicycle," and more at cornfedtrouble.
