WHITCHCAD/Tom Snarsky

the final reflection,

how shallow, puny,

and imperfect are efforts

to sound the depths

in the nature of things

***

the inscrutable will

humming like false

teeth on the train tracks

directed at you, love—

you and you alone

***

a slick wombat coin

minted under your

mincemeat tongue—

terraforming in all

possible directions

***

the gentle steam

excuses itself to go

throw rocks at your

window—the harm

is already done

***

Mary, sand witch of

God—hear me hope

to sing the way your

mother may have

(without being)

***

—is there a way

to see heidegger’s

(lower case h)

love of poetry as

an embarrassment

***

when I try to think

the wheels fall off

of the red tricycle—

my botched mind—

and gently roll away

***

under the blotted

light of late day—

i metamorphose

to take the place

of the mineshaft

***

the final reflection,

how shallow, puny,

and imperfect are efforts

to sound the depths

in the nature of things

*WHITCHCAD takes its title from a common misrendering of A.N. Whitehead’s name in telegrams due to his messy handwriting. The italicized text in the poem is taken from Whitehead’s Process and Reality.