Various Inspectors

Inspector number eleven
passed his wand over
this idea and approved
its developmental moving
along toward its having
a brief moment of living
in the atmosphere of vibrant
expressions mid-travel
fervently swimming in echoes
through turbulent rivulets
of contrary and alternative
signal streams eventually
captured by the curve of
an ear and convolutedly
channeled inward swerving
through someone else’s
inspectoring mazes
blended persevering
grafting and halving
swelling and shriveling
wondering and marvelling
shivering at the thought
that thoughts
are cogitational

Inspector number twelve
more firm in the face
than his predecessor
sensitive to traces of
anything disgraceful
looking twice and thrice
at what improper futures
might arise in places
obscure and least expected
turns over rocks
and inspects the cracks
the most promising places
for germs, memes, seeds,
essences or other sources
originating in a crux
pollenating or arising
out of gut with promise
out of pith into chase
like embers carrying traces
of fire out of fireplaces
and when they are sniffed
they are pinched and snuffed
according to policy
in facilitation of
a case by case
of abstinence.

Inspector number thirteen
showing up everywhere
between first and last
from treble to bass
with a stick in his fist
to poke at the gist
in the interest of nature
badger-like in visage
armed with adventure
troublesomely touching
the fulcrums and linchpins
any cog or knob rich
and key in trajectory
toward possible departures
for the sake of creatively
confusing the censor
he strategically alters
the odd ambiguity
found in the furniture
like dimes and quarters
that turn like mistakes
into millions of dollars
like an angel or creature
of invented indenture
he releases the mortgaged
definitional rigidity
igniting a byzantine
fuse of mystery
sparking branching into
bifurcating apertures
upsetting existing order
with a new one
and beyond.

Inspector number ninety
dips a sable brush in it
wipes across the palette
applies with light touch
the right mix of calamity
and justice to the canvas
and stands back
eyes laughing.


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
This entry was posted in poem, poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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