Disappointing and irritating is the world
in its attempt to destroy any sense of peace,
semblance of order, however contrived, over
aeons of philosophical contemplation,
pursued with the utmost intention of breaking
past, present, and future categories of pain
over the frying pan with a half dozen eggs
in boiling olive oil, becalmed to a simmer,
nothing more, nothing less than acceptance of facts,
truth, as a benchmark, engaging in discourse,
in the zen game of "neither praise nor blame," for acts
no one actively intended nor sought to play
games of incidence, random, and unexpected,
avoidance is impossible, nothing happens,
nothing of importance, no one dies or gets hurt,
diminished capacity for non-acceptance,
ignorance as a rule avoids accountancy,
riddled from the start with a low threshold, childhood
remains the source, not for psychoanalysis,
in the sense that character is not discovered
tragically not until late adulthood, when time
actively distends perceptions to treat mistakes,
toxic as a poisonous plant, weeds in the mind,
in the grand scheme of things, erroneous as thoughts,
nothing but memories colored as bad, as wrong,
given the nature of weeds, of culture defined,
is a reaction, in present time, from childhood,
something residual, never outgrown, stemming
traditionally from a weak character trait,
hungry for change, is the weed a flaw from childhood,
embarrassingly present as a reaction,
working to destroy the weakness, destroys all strength,
order, a laughable conceit, must be laughed at,
regarding the ability to change, to grow,
late in life, as middle age disrupts with crises,
desperate to overcome all constraints, I bow...
