clear ice encases
sharp, fragile, gray branch styli
rain frees spring’s heralds
Aussie Mousse
Do not heed to the woman doing your hair
Mousse Styli santé ' committing one hard stare
Sprays raid every time she speaks Sally & Sheila,
keep your bottle above the temperature peak.
Aussie style, alcohol free verse
All the hairspray in the world
Will never shy away your phat
Splat ‘splat’, your ignorance is fat
Pick up that double chin,
My good friend'
All that blubber!
Will never burns like rubber!
Here is a buck, Color your hair blue
Like the horizon in the sky
That picture on your wall will never do
Something in your right eye' is a lie'
Shed off a few pounds Add some flexible support to your Wonderbra
Your hairs all flaky Your hairs all sticky How about adding,
Aussie to maintain that look?
Your old one's wearing off
3-29-12
By what labyrinthine repetitions,
by what agile, precise divisions,
by what accretions, do we compile
a life's arcane hieroglyphs,
its subtle, unmathematic mysteries?
What cold calculus shall we yet invent
to construct the introspective model?
What distribution curve, what standard deviation,
shall predict the time remaining 'tll we exist
entirely in a universe of our own creation?
Shall we make of stars mere red-shifted
spectral lines on photographic plates?
Will heartache be reduced to sine waves,
mapped by styli on graduated rolls
revolving in precise concurrence
with computed average biologic rates?
Shall we expunge the record from the file,
shall we precipitate a system crash?
What key will be called escape and which restore?
What impulse may span the neural gap,
what synapsis presage what deity?
And will there be a world left to explore?
Will we stop to soliloquize?
What obeisance shall we require?
Piety is no mark of barren earth and rocks,
nor of sterile wind and raging fire.
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