POEM

My life has been like a literary trifle,
vis inertiae: mentally begetting a master
-stroke of still-motion: I am on a wind-faculty,
delicacy of muscles petrifying my fluid
movements.   Most all philosophers are too
ridiculously-serious.   In short, I would
rather flatter them with Existence.
Zen-conversation, but existence goes beyond
intuition, staking one’s reputation on
a mere hunch.   Back to square one,
sunshine deep into submarine streams:
That’s me, a besmirched entity, static
through a transistor radio.   In essence,
a peaceful hippie is better than
all of the pompousness.
A gendermondering category error,
the smug & professorial.
Daily beloved assassin of life: I love you!
Born from the womb around a learning curve,
warranting an asterisk, not for subtextual
information, but for jinxing the hijinx.