Random Acts of Poetry

Random Acts of Poetry

Circle

Coffee stains testify
to the age
of my work shirts.
I found another hole
in this shoe.
And where do my pencils go?
Everything
is breaking down--
dissolving, melting
into a pool
of estranged molecules
that leaks, gradually,
out into space
where the little spinners,
of dark matter,
strange attractors,
rendezvous
and embrace
like sticky lovers
compelled,
by some obsessed
Amenhotep,
to generate
a love child again.
_