Before we forget
what a relief
it can be
to subsist
at the mercy
of benevolent despots,
let us recall
how kind
it is of light
to strike
a blue glass
bottle from behind
and, instead of rushing
through, to luxuriate
inside it
and make it appear
so auspiciously
illuminated;
and while we're at it,
how kind of our
tyrannical minds
to insist
that we be
captivated—
to concoct
out of infinite
bolts of whole cloth
the gonzo
conceit of some
Goldilocks plot
in which
anything at all's
just right.
