Funny Business

One philosopher told me
there is no proof of proof
another thinker thought that
mathematics was truth
I replied in my hasty voice
in words full of wistfulness
I love my honey’s taste
all else is funny business.

I had a doctor pushing
pills instead of health
I had a therapist scratching
any itch which felt
like it was any of many
of the theorems of his theory
derived from the familiar strangely
I was vibrant loving honey
all else was funny business.

I used to be some kind
of expert. I knew of what
I was talking and my mind
stood up straight on ground
made firm out of feverishness.
A master of plastering
my granite over gravel
an artist in the funny business
of picket fence straddling.

Get up in the morning
each of us drags him or her
self into that line of fire
we have a preference for
stung by wasps and battered
by bibles and mythologies
we have a preference for
we gravitate to romance
all else is funny business.

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About mrsorenson

all over the place
This entry was posted in love, poem, poetry, song. Bookmark the permalink.

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