Pied Died --

at the Age of Obvious to a Three-Year-Old

"All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him."
-- a romanticist of faith

"Plus praise 'him' for the toilet brush --
not to mention intelligently designed
deodorizers."
-- a Realist of Reason

*

I hate all things that spring up after rain,
like spring or rhymesters singing spring has sprung,
nor praise I one small fallen finch's pain
or glory in a dappled dried cow dung.
Yet loathe I all things counter, all things strange,
all things original, and all things spare,
from horses plowed till dying from the mange
to infant care to biowarfare ware.
A rainbow trout on hook I straight protest,
malignant moles and freckles full despise,
the fatal chestnut allergen detest
and sprung "sprung rhythms" smoothly satirize --
since who knows how to best end writer's block
but "he" whose manly beauty dead things mock.

*

a dedication of Respect
for
the Pain of countless conscious,
feeling beings
dead --
in addition to dying --
continuously

a revolving helios sonnet shakespearean satire menippean on
the common, sentimental, ignorant belief in
"supernatural" Superdaddy


march, 2023 -- yet still arriving with each pied spring
(aside from hope eterne)
a low estimation of 10 quintillion
(10,000,000,000,000,000,000)
super-duper
bugs