*image by Ben Harubin

There are bursts of noise -- then moments of silence,
bricks -- then mortar, wide-open spaces --
then bunches of stuff.
(Are you catching the pattern? Yeah, you, mind --
I'm talking to you!)

A citizen walks up to a bunch of cops standin' around together and says,
"Okay, what's the problem here?"

As memory said to association, "If bunches aren't the problem,
collections are."

On one planet their motto is, "If knowledge is rated, it's overrated."
And one man changed his name to "Reaper" in the attempt to bring himself
closer to that actual location where the separation of wheat and chaff takes place.

A man verbally engaged a mystic, "I hear it said that there is a limit to language."
To which the wise one grunted his agreement.
And the man continued, "But could you tell me when this limit is reached?"
And the mystic replied, "When you have said the first word."

Since life is not packaged up into predictable bundles,
thought makes up for this deficiency.

In his will, one father bequeathed to his son this piece of advice,
"Never answer the door."
(The boy had the wherewithal to realize that this was direction intended
for his mind. And never mind that he'd been hoping for the old man's Mercedes.