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To a Spirit Oft-Confused
by Ken HarnischAbsolve me of the sin
Of leaving you
You left your senses
Many years before
I came upon the accident
And called the paramedics
Who, it turns out,
Had done that patch-up job with
Humpty-Dumpty
We speak in tongues
Because plain old English
Is a language long
Denied us in transacting
Normal business
You seem to like the stars
While I, I lean towards
Instant replay as a source
Of Truth and Light
Sometimes we cross paths
Or meet in railroad cars
On alternating Saturdays
Where the atmosphere of you
Permeates my head
And I smile and call it fate
But we reek of old leather and
Formaldehyde; commuters
Dead before their time
We will go on:
The best often do
While the worst become
A kind of permafrost;
Vexatious to the soul;
Worrisome to all;
But to us, just more chips
In the Poker game
Where we play, and sometimes win 11/22/2008 Posted on 11/22/2008
Copyright © 2025 Ken Harnisch
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