The Toad

orange and black frog
Photo by Thierry Fillieul on


Writing the scroll
on infinite length
of rhetorical flourish
hoping none can read
there’s nothing to be read
in deep cyber space
in jumbled sentences
meant to hide
how jumbled sentences
began un-jumbled
to be processed
ersatz abstruse
or then again,
in a shy way,
nothing but threats
from one either unaware of
hidden agendas or hell
bent on having one
jumbled lies with
abstruse references
from well-thumbed lists
in sentences that dare not mean
for fear in all their nakedness
something too tiny and shrivelled
provokes unwanted mirth,
well ha ha ha
and I’ll throw in Aristotle
to look more clever
or maybe – let me get that book –
and check the spelling – Nietzsche.
Who needs to make sense
in a senseless world
when disguises win prizes
and no one makes head or tail
or dare admit no head or tail
Word soup, alphabetical spaghetti,
unutterable utterings for eyes
that cannot tell the difference,
who do not get it’s nothing
but a coward’s threat
to poetry, yet some there are
who know the difference.
Viva La difference.
(Now I’ll look up some Sanskrit
and get back to you.)


3 thoughts on “The Toad

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