Life's a marble in a bowl:
	  All agony but a rolling chance,
	  The bullfight no longer a dance
Of misdirection toward a goal.

Life's a story with no moral;
	  Condensation's circles yet
	  No ring of meaning can beget.
Race to rail against the choral

Loves hossannaed by the mass
	  Of men, who see their circle
	  Flout timid time and weary wrinkle,
Whose dreams go buried by the grass.

Know that your own nothingness
	  A nothingness stays, a felt
	  Backdrop or dead pelt
Stroked by hands half calluses.

There's no lesson to be learned
	  From all the tarnished marvel
	  Of our mayhem, still the larval
Stage of chaos for we damned.

Impotent in the pouring wrack
	  Of disaster's icy hail
	  Stripping deep with red-hot flails
Splintered skin that'd been my back.

I stand in draining anger,
	  Half-aghast to understand
	  Myself am likewise but a man
Dreaming Fate is not a stranger.

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Poems in pieces

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