Look, and look again, Before you go leaping, Leaping like Tigger on a spring. Was Pheidippides’s guerdon not enough? Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. Unvarnished deemster is the fossor, Death’s shaken up dhëndër. We cannot slow the blow, Oomf would know, At least, those shown to be cerebral. When smarts akin to a cudgel Interpret news of yestereve, Last night’s insights may well leave. Look, and look again.
THE TIGER RETURNS WITH A SPLASH
I mean, dear fatuous repat,
Who hasn’t at some point felt that?
Art is now
The compensatory lengthening of time,
The gnomon shadow
Of a pocket pork dial.
It finds futuristic us
Over the hill and far away,
In a sarít of crafternoons
Filled with tactical spoons,
Former ferocious firecrackers,
Now obsequious moist squib simperers,
A corrupted few
Living the dream
Of the incompetent many.
It will all come out in the wash, they said. No. Maybe Sekia’s escaped rodent tried to hide in the dishwasher and came unstuck? No.
Oh well, there’s always clematises and cats to calm the waters.