Tuesday, July 27, 2021

Words for Vince and his Chain

Don't be cruel to the uncurious and brutal,
They are but cattle to their fattening idyl;
How impolite to warn them of their slaughter.
Surely there must be some common ground ...

The taste of clover, for example.
And so I fall before them, in mock prostration,
Declaring my envy and how I am not worthy
Of the honey wafting out of those crowns.

How much, one muses, would you pay to get some?
And no matter what I say, how I respond,
They will think it a lie, that I'm unable to disguise 
The urge for something too embarrassing to lust for.

It is like that here. They mistrust their very senses,
Their nose for clover, to throw me in their sack.
My ideas, like a bid in poker, must grow stranger
At each opposite my ante of self attracts.