Being is a riddle with no answer
that we struggle
to solve.
Perhaps we are words
chosen at random.

Not a tale told
by an idiot, for
there is
no idiot, only
us.

Perhaps life is a
map drawn by apes,
mesmerized
by mere line
and shape.

If we follow it carefully,
perhaps it will
take us somewhere,
even if
by accident.

Hang a fiddle
from a tree.
Fix the bow to the strings
and pretend
that in the wind
it makes music.

Write a poem
in Sumerian. Use a phonetic dictionary,
but do not look at the definitions.
Create rhyme and meter
with words that mean
nothing.

Perhaps, by accident, the map
will lead me
to a woman’s house, and
perhaps my lynched fiddle
will be music to her ear, and
perhaps my Sumerian verse
will melt her heart,
though it has no meaning. But,
perhaps she will fall in love with me,
nonetheless