the worms that share this level
are excited by the coming warmth
but worried about the myth of birds
that has spread among them
some philosopher worm
has speculated that there exists
a dimension above and distinct
from this exalted and lavish
aether of plenty and joy
in which creatures must traverse
vast and inconceivable distances
to eat, and that they plunge into
this spongy and delerious aether
to do so, upon worms
needless to say
philosophy has been banned
forever
Late in the day
when the whether
has resolved into the done
and can’t be returned
for a refund,
and complaining
is still tiresome
as teenage logic,
and achievement
seems like magic,
I sit down here in my
subterranean office
and contemplate
lying still under clay
at the end of the day.
That’s when I wonder
whether anything I did
will remain above ground
or even be thought of
or possibly found;
or much more:
understood
if at all possible;
like the time I said my
test results were tossable;
and ordered a second death
by chocolate dessert
which I still enjoy
thinking about per-
versely to annoy
people who want me to
live forever.
Our tin ceiling when it’s finished
will have cornices
each pressed and cut from
powder-coated tin.
So shiny it will be
and so exotic:
I hope that doing it
won’t do me in.
The corners of the cornices
are intricate
and some are out and
some completely in;
and cutting them and
fitting drives me crazy:
for tin is thin and cutting
warps its skin;
Myopic visitor who
comes hereafter:
I hope that when you sit
and contemplate
these cornice corners
hewed from this disaster,
you’ll see such beauty
you will meditate
and come to realize
we’re put on earth
so gods can fill their days
in constant mirth.
