On
the minutiae of life
I
am not enamoured of
the
minutiae of life
I
would rather take stock of the general
in
its hours of strife
I
do not find myself touched by
the
old red wheel-barrow
gone
to seed
I’d
rather run amok with a paintbrush
than
let each stroke breed
and
bleed into others on the canvass
making
mock of the stenciller’s line
I
would rather have space sitting empty
than
note the passing of time
I
would rather notice from a distance
the
patterns of objects and shapes
rearranging
themselves into fractals
only
a handful of types
repeated
throughout the whole of nature
gravitation
universal as sin
I
would rather sit high on a low cloud
than
let particulars in
and
what more unique than a particle
is
worthy of our study
consider
the whole of the dynamic purpose
and
leave the more complex things be
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