Friday, January 24, 2014

Recension 1,099 (Doubt Is a Bad Rhyme)

"Pockmarked by the clutter of brackets
And ellipses," individual
Recall for episodic tchotchkes,
For linguistic kitsch and bric-a-brac,

Includes a lot already expired
(Those foolish rhymes about finity,
Maids, friendships, seasons, divinities)
While leaving out much to be desired:

The valuable antiques of childhood,
The priceless first editions of facts,
Whatever it was the first godhead
Said that actually prized wise and good.

Perhaps because we can't answer back,
Half the con-artist gods of the gaps
Have descended, condescendingly,
To allow how we should be allowed

To make mistakes, so long as we're clear
That the ancient experts, like nature,
Ambiguous by necessity,
Don't have to tell us why life is dear,

Death is both real and illusory,
The fault is (more or less forgiveness
Excepted) ours, faith breeds certainty,
And real, deep doubt breeds calamity.

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