The Pilgrimage: Part 37 / Phillip Neal Tippin
Sleep a sonnet
Wake a free verse.
The intra-telos
Of walking uprightly.
Had I foreknown
My son would be a Kelvinist
With his scales
Trying to reduce the difficulty of zero…
To zero!
As every yes is a no,
On the whole, it seems,
I feel the no’s more
In the very routine yes
Of the others I know.
Only left with
A clefted eyeline
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