an iterant (a fool)

life is an equation
of sorts

iteration
on iteration

never much closer
to a solution

but the attempt
must be made
or die

looking back
sees the poor fool
believing
in his own
purpose

iterating

despite
or because
of what is being done
around him

by others

to others

to him

the present is
securely more complete
and need cause
no bother

but
the temptation
to wallow
in the distress
of being so . . .
unformed
is seductive
and
for a short time
a naïve fool
is iterating
again

~

*I’m not sure if this and the last poem (hissst!) will make the cut. It is tricky to find what feels like a satisfactory opening into this section of the work.