Every color looks good on you
and with every other hue and shade
as you lie, spread out in nature.
Its pieces always looks good with its pieces;
this is how nature is made.
The worm makes it into the leaves
before sundown. Reflections trap
expression. Nature has no place to go.
We repeat ourselves. The contention
is there is more coordination in trying to make the parts fit
than any coordination which exists in it.
We know how the others are going to think
before they think; human thought
is now spied upon and bought.
All that contributed to variety
is used to perfect a perfect entity
failing in every single way to escape gravity.
I am stunned at how coordinated everything is:
doorknobs, keys, traps, latches.
You and I mapped out a boring relationship
in order to avoid it, and then,
after the tunnel, with coincidence and matches,
after kissing, we began to argue again;
you were for Persians and an introverted life.
I was for the Germans. And my wife. And my wife.
Scarriet 
Leave a comment