I killed and ate a gorilla
to crush the butterflies,
and my stomach was calm
and my blood flowed on
and the mountains came
to ask me for advice.
I complied, perhaps partly I lied,
but they reclined, contented
and so I say the proof's in the crust.
Soon enough, the skies as well
- although to be quite honest, they did not
look as well as I'd seen them, still: I tried
to be nice to them. I told them what
they wanted to hear, or so I judged:
"Keep it up! Be yourself. Don't
let anyone get you down."
It seemed to work.
When the seas rushed in
for their share of wisdom I balked:
I can't swim! Don't drown me, please
but the seas buoyed me up, with
compliments and promises: "Just
tell us what we need to hear, we're
so sure you'll float!" and I did.
I told them:
that even though it's true
nobody suspects their deep,
yawning gaping depths of abyss,
(which was a lie, the Navy has mapped
that shit all out), that even though most
everyone only sees and rhapsodizes
over the surface, that even though you
feel, consequently, that
"no one really knows me"
- no, wrong. That surface
- all of you that all of the world
sees - is true. The surface you spread
before the world, of you, is true - and no lie,
despite you may make efforts to swirl the foam
this or that way, or pile up a rogue wave now and then,
to intimidate - still what others see
is as real as how you feel. Deep down and inaccessible
is no more real than surface and barely (or at least,
only ineffectively at best) controlled.
The seas thought that one over,
and I felt myself sink
to drown, so I thought, but turns out
I was only in
three feet of water. I'm not as deep
as I think I am sometimes.
All of this attention from the natural
world had more-or-less turned my head around.
After advising the sun to continue on its course doing likewise
vis-a-vis its own head,
from my perspective at least,
I got a little too wild, and
I killed and ate a gorilla. Yes,
in that order.
I killed and ate a gorilla
and tried to say it was ok,
on grounds of:
- "satire," no not
I never could quite get a handle
on that, I'm
a vegan where irony, or irony by-
products are concerned,
although I try
to bolster my diet with alternative
such as a gorilla.
Where was I?
at the zoo.
In the zoo jail, specifically, which
- let me tell you! Is a real damn specific, ironic
place in which to find one's self, as a human
animal! And I can't help but feel
like one wall of the zoo
jail should be just bars - open
to the viewing public. "Do not feed the
prisoner!" When's feeding time? Can
we watch? "Oh, none for me
thanks. Not hungry,
This would never fly. Zoos
would not be comfortable drawing
A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years. Try the RANDOM button to sample the sometimes surprising breadth of quality (and in several Novembers, breathtaking quantity as well), or click the "ANY GOOD" label* for those poems labeled with it. On any poem, old or new, feel free to offer your remarkable insight or critical acumen.
*I haven't yet revisited many pockets and stretches of time to appraise and label the "any goods," so some are missing. Please feel free to point out omissions, or - especially - erroneous inclusions, in comments.