THE STUFF THAT MAKES US TICK

It's the same

carbon-based crap,

slithery enzymes,

Paleolithic hormones,

the stuff that makes us tick.

This wet rag (nee facecloth)

of a epiphany

hit me in the bank queue

(and as

you may have

guessed no clothes-

stripping Eureka moment

even if a teller be

a delicious fox).

Oh those Greeks, so

sure of themselves before

steamrollered by the Romans

did ever

little birds chirp

so much about muscular beauty?

With their Thermopylae and

disgust for the barbarian

and their Homer and

Socrates

ravaging my once young soul

with bottomless cups

of philosophy, and

Aristophanes, who

could make even a tyrant laugh, and

Euripides -- brother --

where were you

when I married my Medea? And

that logos

pray tell me what in the

logic word there so apt to

contradiction, but null

in the case of difference

and I live in a land of difference

my marriage bed is a

continent of difference

I only

know through

difference

have no

sense of beauty

in the same (be it

age of

bronze, or

iron or

carbon-fibre),

It is

no Eureka moment, these words

so keenly here

recycled are

on loan, are not

what marble might

wish engraved

(as

jingle jangle for

immortal memory, as

rich as

gold

Classic as the

recipe for Kentucky Fried).