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.
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