Sunday, August 19, 2012

o42


by the power of nature's recompense
a beetle of the sphere, rocking, scoring the pretense
doth rise dutifully to the firmament,
the empyrean dream, to balance the woe -
flitting thus and whatnot into the random world circulant
punching through the curvature amid the bowl
it plucks at the sequence, toggles rampant no-see-ums
into a merciful, fruitful, diversion
impelling a sweltering division
of rectification...
Waning now in a detached stupor
a beetle of the sphere, lazing, imbibing ad hominem
hardens in its rusty carapace
caramelizing in retrospect to dust
fruiting the superficial residue
to corral the ingenuity of nature's whim
and to shake it loose,
unleashing a waft of forgiveness
to an otherwise groping what will be
will be...

3 comments:

  1. Oh, you are over here! This has gotten by me...
    The page is so very still on the screen ... when I know that in tangent form it jumps and burrows out of sight while one grapples to read. -J

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  2. Wow. How did I miss this? And you're going to make us work for it. So the determined beetle climbs the slippery slope, falls in, and fights the vortex until the flush?

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