The man who proclaims I am what I am
is a will who won’t. Already full-grown
he’s a rock that can only fly when thrown.
A Captain Marvel who can’t say shazam.
The woman who says I go with the flow
doesn’t know her ankle from her elbow.
Gaily she dips her foot in the river
surmising she lost it in a quiver.
In the long run Heraclitus was right.
Everybody’s a loser in the end.
Though after saying that he saw the light.
Another absolute peeped round the bend.
Pythagoras was in tune with numbers.
Everywhere he went the buzz-blur out there
would circumcise his heart with tender care.
That old man felt seeds and saw cucumbers.
Can proportion and structure ever be
figured out and awed at in a sole thing?
Given mystery and discovery,
which one would you choose over everything?
The temptation is to curse the extreme
or develop a high-minded complex.
I prefer to take the bull by the mean
and gleefully gallop through the perplexed.