Fit the Garments


A world is made up of words for babbling.

That is a thing that is pure in the vision.
Like dogs, we like to bark, words, yes, but.

Still, without that, there is no personality
That may be read into by the philosophers
In pursuit of things that only God knows.

The real mystery is that we need to eat.
That appetite, around which much is made
Of things that are high and low,
Is in the need to scale and proportion.

There are a million ways to eat,
From Hong Kong to the Falkland Islands,
British vessels sailed across all these
Filial wonders of the culinary spirit,
Puzzling over the idea of diet and variety.

I heard a guy say, "I drink therefore I am."
A bit of a ham, he, but quite authentic
In his intent and verve in just saying it.
He likes things that show a certain punch
At the right moment of an important event
Where he is making some persuasive arguments.

It is true that we talk too much, probably,
About things that do not have clear shapes,
As if we have no idea how to move forward,
Even as we consider ourselves progressists,
Trapped as we are in ideas long left behind,
Drowned in the flood but now we have film
To entertain the desire to know, in blurry 2D.

Some people think that a word is a sweet.
Yet others are not amused so it is a pill.
Has a writer ever attempted a character
Whose mind is reasoning out a jealousy
Over a car that a friend has just acquired
Not through his own savings but as a perk
As part of a new job where he meets girls
To choose which ones fit the garments?

Bevagna, 5 12 2017