Stop Making Sense

Even things that “Don’t make sense”
can actually make sense.

(Well, hey, come on, it’s gotta be so
since everybody knows it’s true
the other way around.)


This one little kid would periodically announce,
“If you dress up, you’ll throw up.”  And his Mama mused,
“When it comes to matters cerebral haute couture,
me fears the lad will forever be outfitted polyester,
and off-the-rack.”


Just to keep things equitable,
every forty-five seconds
this one planet reverses the order
of their alphabet.

There is that which cannot forget.


I happened to be chatting with a chap,
over near one of the City buildings, who told me
that after a long life of being hostile toward religion
and cynical of people’s spiritual rituals, he had, of late,
come to a revision of “thought-sorts,” and now felt no
alarm over such matters as the offering of prayers and
supplications to “hoped for deities,” for, as he put it,
“Such pleas for help from higher forces don’t cost anything,
don’t make your situation any worse, and, all things generally
considered – what else you gonna do?



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