Friday, November 8, 2013
Who's the mad one? Her majesty Eternity,
Or Wisdom explicating the Ouroboros,
Pointing out how the serpent's self-consummation
Creates all perpetual circularity?
She finds his blather utterly monotonous,
His Latin-wrapped cane a young man's affectation,
And laughs at how he won't look at her breasts.
He's blind, of course, which she always forgets.
She's mad as math describing forever,
And can't pronounce the words "stop" or "never."
With her hand on the planetary sphere,
Warmed by a brazier of exploding stars,
She writes in her diary, "I'm not here.
I go on, on and on, though not that far!"