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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.
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