Another Self

[Lykren]

It amuses me how bad you are
at enjoying yourself. Pleasure
drizzles in through the window,
the March nights are hoping
for a softer bed, and you sit here
thinking up snow-white inaccurate words,
toys to needle yourself with,
a menagerie of discontented animal spirits
swiped from an elder civilization.

Disturbed at last by the sight of it all
I wander downstream to where gold
filaments hang from the dry trees, a kind of moss.
Knowing God on a first-name basis does not
make living any easier. What do I think?
What I think is that there are several kinds
of flatness, each with its own peculiarities.
For instance an egg. An egg isn't round,
exactly, but instead constitutes a tradition
which reveres fertility for what it is,
the collision of several inexplicable accidents
involving what were once referred to as
'symbols' – in modern parlance, feelings.

But enough. The soda fountain is jammed,
the sweet stuff will flow no longer
unless it be like tears, unquenchable,
immobilizing. Drink the hemlock, Aristotle,
and tell me what you see.

[Delta40]

Lol. Artistic self recrimination? I'd say drop the egg thing but it sort of makes the point of the first lines.