Monday, March 4, 2024

And Yet It Fools Everybody

You have a cowlick mind
That stubbornly resists
Whichever way combs go.

It’s ridiculous. You’ll think
One twist’s your position,
And then someone’s words brush

In just that direction,
And your hair stands on end,
Suddenly offended.

Try to flatten your thoughts,
They’ll point helter-skelter.
Grow them out; they fall flat,

Still swirling but oily,
Surly eddy, vortex
Plastered around your skull.

Someone writes, illusion,
You think, how could you know?
Someone means to listen

To the world by taking
Humans out of landscapes,
You think, that’s not the world.

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