Deep Thoughts

After a brief illness the world rolls back as a globe atlas seeking its gimbal. It occurs to me that the planet has no legs, that legs are a mark of the ephemeral nature of all angularity. Roundness the real mark of the Lord Thy God. I then wonder if I still have a fever of the brain? My bowels are irregular I dump fiber into my coffee, munch on dry toast. A host of ridiculous thoughts plague me still. Being perhaps still ill and loosely fitting I bang my head upon a poem and pray that it may recover all by itself.