Friday, April 27, 2018


After a while, I can't resist. So,
sheepish, I slink 
over, lift the cloche 
of reality, 

anxious to behold 
"pure theory."
Glancing around quick
I pick-

up this formidable word,
give it 
a squeeze, guiltily 
I feel its heft, 

its girth—and find, 
with dumb-
founded fingers, that it isn't

the iron-
hard and heavy
thing I'd always 

It's just this thin 
and rutted alligator 
skin, conserving (having 
come this 

far, I pierce it 
with a pinky finger) 
some crumbly in-
consequential fuzz

wrapping, in turn—nothing 
but a tender 
and pitiable 
lack of imagination.