Organic
If love were 'dark matter'
it would be the size
of a small kidney stone.
Hate is
an intestinal tapeworm
that gnaws at our vitals,
though most folks
remain unsure just what 'vitals' are.
The human brain
does not write poetry,
it merely crouches inside one ear,
while shouting into the other.
Poetry abides at the center
of an ever-expanding constellation
deep within the pineal gland -
that physical presence
manipulates, as many as
ten fingertips or toes
plus, a sloshed Calliope
swinging back and forth,
as she clings precariously
to chandelier-like Adam's apple.
Lips learn to think for themselves,
with the help of undocumented
angels.
Thus, naturally
organically produced poetry
can easily be manifest
while a nose dips deep
into a foaming glass of beer.
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