the ass

Without a point of focus, images that move from reminders of a wasted chance to dominate a sense of impotence into action are secure.

I tossed one afternoon inside the curl of a wave
crossed through with sun;
it was the intersection of her business and my ignorance.

The allegory lives inside these formless planes
of an ass who struck his mistress for a lark
discovering a catechism wherein all but the very least
of artificial reason ebbs.

© Jeff Thomas 2009