Like that, echo disappears. Like that, not the little I Am,
Repetition no longer this missing subtle –lalia there:
Like that, not like panning for ore: my initials are mad.
Like a missing shadow I feel no sympathy for me.
What extreme name begins a sequence, be it eight-
Nine, be it four-three, to become an anacronym,
Unknown laser that scubas beneath the radar,
A gone suitcase word (gone) wrong, the valence
Thrown where we speak of capacity and facilitation
When we mean interaction. Like that, chemistry
Has embraced the conversation, atoms are bouncing
Atoms at an alarming rate, and my phemes
Write a different word with every leave you take.
I reverse the order, to shadow the emotion with a block-
Age, I repeat the vowel to become original man
In a jumbled concatenation of initialism’s port.
Man’s toe stands on erred ground, imbalanced
Against Hera’s curse, (or Pan’s dread), the Oread
At rest in the underworld, underlined, the undersigned
Staring at the quirks of a petal, the hypothetical spin
A stem takes hold to bend to a univocal shore,
The oxymoronic purely theoretical morphology follows
Lexeme’s path (word upon echoing word), says
We are one, not forms of two, and questions
Our strange and charmed being. A seabird quawks
Its anabolic I am,
Its song a-heralding, like that echo, disappears.
© 2012 – Mark A. Douglas – All Rights Reserved
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