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Conditionally,
“unconditional”
comes with its 
vast conditions,
don’t you agree?
we invest our love,
and all of ourselves 
into the adoration
and dissection 
of all forms 
of muses,
who will, 
or will not
be found 
swimming amused 
in each others' 
minds, 
in each others'
poetry;
we are a muse
ourselves, egregious
to the rules of iambic
and other rigid romping
rhythms and rites 
to be righted, 
that we daily play 
dodgeball with ardently,
it's like ducking from 
incoming magpies
guarding their nests,
circling their 
small-worldly boundaries,
establishing their tiny
very tight territories,
they fly in at us hard
with their sharp beaks 
and their spit, they assert
they are allied with the best, 
those well informed
highly schooled scribes,
who largely mistaken in mind,
dunk others less than less, and wait 
for the curs'ed to float, 
but in the sinking
those curs'ed 
drowned muses,
in that terrible
horrendous misfortune,
tied to their dunking chairs,
eyes now wide open,
find diamonds
at the bottom of 
their damned pond, 
as they swiftly pass 
schools of wayward fish
with no clear direction in mind,
and other monsters
pulling out hearts
with their pre-prehistoric
saber-toothed grins;
hellelujah for those 
who bespoke for you
freeverse from the ego 
within the heart -
it’s the mind that cuts
without hesitation, 
draws lines in the sand,
limiting us to couplets
in greeting cards
sans ampersand,
conditionally 
"unconditional";
the curs'ed
eventually wake
and they rise, 
spilling tea
stirring 
sugar 'n spice
into the bland,
who eventually
open their eyes
and their minds,
unconditionally 
“conditional”
sans ampersand
heart 
mind





Candide Diderot. ‘24

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