. . . and


they left me out in the sun to dry
thinking, possibly, I was too wet.
After a while I wondered why
I was there so long. Did they forget,
or did I?

At first I thought it had to be what
I needed most, a detached moon
whose cool neglectful smoothness was not
the enemy. After a while but much too soon,
polyglot,

no single abiding memory to tell
me who I was and what I was doing
there, I pondered about it as well
as I could to see who was growing
how in hell

because that, I realized, was where I was,
where nothing fit, where nothing matched,
where no effect ever had a cause
and everything grew, because never hatched,
and no laws

prevailed to tell me how in an urbane
moon now madly burned a blazing sun
raging against an emptied brain;
perhaps to force me to find a reason
to explain

why I'd been left out in the sun
seeing there was nothing I could possbly forget
since a day in the sun was a day undone
and how I could dry if I wasn't wet,
with no one

in authority to tell me the peculiar
intentions of Him who'd brought me here
and if I was either wet or dry, nor
if there was any scheme for me to disappear

afoot. Score this one up for God, then, boys,
who may have designed the God-damn thing.
I suggest you check that phony invoice
to see if He isn't a monkey-wrench king
tossing toys
to burn all Troys.