An Orwellian Aubade
The horse says moo; the cow says nay.
The sun says night, the darkness deigh.
Things speak themselves and what they’re not:
Just listen, and you’ll hear them say
That hot is cold and cold is hot,
That living’s just one way to rot,
All points point toward antipodes
And nothingness is all we’ve got.
Our nouns and verbs are refugees
Adrift and huddled close on seas
Of fierce, blue-black je ne sais quoi,
Kept far from shore by ironies.
But honest, love, your floor-flung bra
Derails my dream ménage à trois,
And when I say I mean to stay
I mean I don’t mean au revoir.
(First published in Measure III.1 (2008)