Finish Line

A man with sins to confess
will never finish.

Some real-time, anachronistic graffiti
on the bathroom wall (near the light switch)
in a bistro on a world that has yet to clearly
establish its position in the chronology
of the cosmos; in translation, the best
I can make of it is: 

“War and woof, warp and woof,
so sews the see-saw of rugs;

Up and down, a-square, a-round,
so goes from thieves to saints to thugs.”

(I do personally consider it a most promising sign
that all the rest of the universe now recognizes
the travel limitations of circular sojourns of reason…
Heh, heh, get it just a little tour director’s humor.

Institutions are to assist man
in not thinking.

In a land where rangy brains,
sustain sub-hunger pains,
it’s food with no center,
they have for dinner,
that’s how they maintain the lean.

A viewer from “out-that-way” writes to say that he’s contemplated, then counted and concluded, that there are as many hobbies as there are people; he in fact wants it known that there are exactly the same number of human hobbies as there are humans…(he says he finds this “HIGHLY suspicious,” and asks – “Don’t you too?”)

J.