Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Something else was the matter


Today in the morning
I read a letter
About roses and keeping them
Free of Rosegrower’s grief.
Something else was the matter.

What I read was a
Midsummer Letter
Enfolding a poet’s Midlife Belief;
How could I feel
So close to his grief?

When the mind of a poet dances 
Around universal constellations,
We are reduced to atoms and chances;
Not this one; he did not shout out
But reached into substantial relations

Infused with free will
And a dash of psychosis
Providing some form of crude explanation
For this creeping unease to chill
On stage of a drama

Called life. A huge play
Resembling the Simpsons or Futurama.
In comic lies wisdom, 
A humorous madman
In life lies decay.