Pleased to Meet You!

My soul, when seen in illumination spectral, is a

Grasping being of hands, lips, and teeth.

It is an omnivore, always wanting more;

Satiety is not in its reach,

Nor quiescence. It is an

Always roving maw that pauses occasionally

For a well-turned phrase, or it

Peeps surreptitiously at something well-turned

On biology's lathe, when it

Licks its dry chops and grows fat-headed

As a honey mushroom.

It is a freakish, always lumbering clodhopper,

At once oddly as urgent as a feeding chick, and

Yet a disciple of Aristotle, that

Pads around in slippers,

Lost in teeming categories and

Endless desire.

This brew of abstraction is

Chemistry for celestial frames, maelstroms of

Words, ecstacies, and nightmares.

The feeding chick gawks and trembles

With fervid sense.

"A cocktail?" it inquires, cordially.