This is
an oddly personal poem
filled with
abstractions
that mean nothing
to anyone (including me).
Maybe it’s my sub-conscious trying
to
tell me something?
or
Maybe it’s just
a sad attempt to
fill a page
in a desperate plea
for attention.
Look at all the faces
walking down the street
going to the store
running from the police.
Why do they walk, go, and run?
They are like
Einstein ants, a
race of people
who think they are free
when REALLY
the simply have
a beard
and a fuzzy
white
strand
of almost (afro?) hair.
Can they see themselves?
They look so funny,
little Einstein ants.
With their
cute little theorums
and
nice little tweed coats
and
busy little bodies.
They twitter and flutter
not knowing themselves
or otherselves or myselves.
E=MC2? HA!
EA=C2. That is the
Einstein ant
equation
that explains how they work.
But look at all the faces
on these Einstein ants.
Look at their cheeks
and their eyes
and their double-chins.
These things-
they are vessels
for the Einstein ant’s emotions.
Little
receptacles to
fill in
what their unfeeling
gut-memes
are trying to say.
But their faces are GLORIOUS
(and by that I mean GLORY)
for there are so many different
Einstein ant
faces
that
all appear to be great.
Lovely little Einstein ants.
(I suppose I’m not exempt)