POEM: the god of abstraction

tree on one corner

on the other a shrine

they hedged their bets

stood astride the line

they sealed their letters to the holy ghost

and slipped them in the midnight post

afraid of what their friends would say

if they mailed them in the light of day

each one believed in the abstract

a realm free of the force of fact

but when that ghost began to ride

they laced their cakes with cyanide

better to be crazy amid false gods

than run the table and play the odds

POEM: Truth From Unlikely Places?

matrix_620

I passed a man on the street,

in the brutal noonday heat.

Blending in, but for his Tee.

It read, “Nothing is as it seems.”

I said, “Ain’t that the truth, brother.”

He walked on, like all the others.


A message sent on the sly?

From some watcher in the sky?

How’d he know it’d draw my eye?

And not be taken for a lie?

Maybe my will is not so free,

and what I “know” isn’t reality.


[Later that day…]


Rev. screamed, “We’re living in a simulation!”

“Friends, this ain’t no pre-apocalyptic nation.”

“Aliens watch us on their reality-TV station.”

“All I can offer is a bargain spaceship vacation.”

I distrust those who shout from a box,

and distrust more the joining of flocks.


But the kook’s words rattled in my mind.

Maybe lunatics get things right sometime.

What if the world is just a simulated grind,

and passersby just figments of my mind?

If this world is fake, should I abstain?

Or try much harder to entertain?