Fall fall fall fall fall,
Like fathom feathers,
Like Jupiter eyes,
Till at the end of the self,
The alphabet gives up the ghost,
And in this dust
New spectacles
Breathe in the firsts
Of perception
Again. Again
The doubling of cells,
The doubling down of wiring,
And at most
The winning of confusion,
From this
Somehow
Real steps.
~
Mischievous infinitesimals
Chide the ego.
All sound rests on no sound.
What is the price of being particular
That can but be halved?
But go on. You must.
Endorse your leg muscles. Your poetic anxiety.
Chide back.
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naïve haircuts 
a stirring poem to action, Bob; just what we all need from time to time; a stern kick up our poetic backsides 🙂
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Well said, John! Thank you!
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This is great. I love the title, and the poem’s got great movement, too. You do a wonderful job of transporting us to another world.
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Thank you so much!!!
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“And in this dust
New spectacles
Breathe in the firsts
Of perception.”
This stanza is my favourite, though the whole poem is bewitching and would make the reader wonder what kind of day you had (in my mind). It’s such a subtle but vivid image with so much unsaid. I always enjoy your minimalism, Bob! ☀️
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Thank you Sunra! I’m very glad you think so.
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