Contradictions

Darkness whisks the egg white strands
into the yellow yolk glob.

Time claws its way
wallowing through a quagmire
of booze, ooze and bog-breath delays.
"I'm Late, I'm Late!"
"Who Spake?" 
"Who's seen better Ways?"

Feet spread strangely,
disengage and untangle.
Interlocking with toe taps
pin-pointed to barre-
laughing at those old elbows and knees.

The gasp of old shadows
lurking in clouds
dispels the carnival
confetti spaghetti charade, 
to yell: 
"Joie de Vivre! 
"What the hell!"
"Is all this stuff about?"

Silence lies petrified
by a pillar of Babel-borne salt
outside of the window.
It can't get out of bed.
“I’m fine! OK!" 
"I'm laying in" 
"Playing dead!"

Each contradiction
spoke with impeccable diction.
Intonation interlaced;
with poise and puréed perfection,
personified.

It brought applause, clapped with one hand
behind the other, 
a contra-counterpart. 
A toot toot touche,
bowing to cheers 
from both ways.

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