The Noniversity

Exists only in the noniverse,
Where nothing actually exists,

Not as a mathematical,
Theoretical, functional

Symbol, useful for equations
And for making everything else

Work, but purely, nothing at all.
This is, of course, ridiculous—

Nothingness, as such, can’t exist.
Existence is for nothing much.

There’s no one who could teach nothing
As nothing for no one to teach.

And yet, at noniversity
No one will admit they’re not there,

Learning nothing about nothing
And the noniverse as inverse

Of all the unexplorable
Concentric rungs of multiverse.

Stitching a Look

Language lays out the most
Elaborate toolkit

Any species ever
Invented. You can play

At fitting facts with it,
Like a clothes designer

Deciding if the spring
Collection should be tight,

Down to millimeters
Between words and what is,

Or extravagantly
Loose, billowing mainsails

Of assertions barely
Grazing the skin of things,

As if the language lived
A being of its own—-

Or anything between,
Ludicrous, extravagant,

Spartan, controlled, precise,
Painted like glue on flesh,

Whatever you want words
To do, whatever for.

Shall we lie this season?
Shall we embody truth?

And yet, all shows end up
At least a bit of both.

Persons in Their Own Right

Posit a fabulist’s parable,
A wonder tale of a functional,
Instrumental, ordinary tool,

Something that doesn’t seem magical,
A chair, a door, a bookshelf, a bed.
In the tale a ghost possesses this

Unmagical, functional, useful
Object of no particular worth.
For a long time, the ghost is silent,

Unprotesting as protagonists
Employ it as a mere instrument
Of their own purposes. Then one day,

The chair or bookshelf or bed protests
Not being treated as a person,
Autonomous, ethical being

In its own right. Commotion ensues.
Brutal exorcism rituals.
Debates on the souls of furniture.

Arguments that it’s ridiculous
To credit a bed with a being
Anything more or less than a bed.

Finally it all comes to a head
When the protagonists are revealed
To be haunted furnishings themselves,

The piled comforters muffling the beds,
Tables surrounding themselves with chairs
Books held up by nothing but shelving.

Hot Cocoa Packet

Cheap, generic powder
Just add hot water, stir

Sit down at the table
Someone passed down to you

So you would have somewhere
To st by the window

And not have to eat meals
On the futon or floor

There you go, something hot
To warm you as you watch

The next storm lowering
And think about preppers

And how much they must have
In material goods

To invest in feeling
Safe and secure from all

Alarm, leaning, leaning
On everlasting arms