And For Some the Abstract Is Real

And For Some The Abstract Is Real It may be that the concrete image of a milkmaid’s stool, It’s splintered and worn-shiny wood grain, gray-brown, Three legs supporting a two inch thick oak round, Twelve inches across, even in the mind of a fool Can evoke a poetic response, the thought near-real; A Germanic root is more oomph-palpable than a Latinate, Yes, and it’s smoother, easier to say “the cat that ate” Than “the felus catus that consumed its meal.” But those of us lost in a verbose cerebral vector, (Excuse me, I mean a too-wordy place) Intoxicate ourselves with the oblique andobscure nectar, (Er, uh, get drunk on the sweet drink, whose meaning is not plain) Distilled from the idiomatic remnants of an ancient Roman lector. (Oh, you know, brewed from pieces Of language with a Latin stain).