Shizm
The dogged savant having satisfied his appetence
for metathesis, set his mind on those endemic
conflations usually subordinated. Tyrannicide
or apotheosis? He couldn’t decide. The endless
tautologies, and lack of training on modern
phonological principals thwarted new paradigms.
When he talked he was prone to excessive syllepsis.
Hail the chimera, its great golden mane and venomous
serpent tail morphological, major miracle, ontology
onto itself. No recidivism would dare try scare the
chimera, lest under duress it recoil into a zygote.
The savant’s repressive hebetude held him back.
At times admonitions weighed heavily on him. Life
shrunk to a series of ekphrasises in periphrastic flux.
But with morals intact he remained inscrutable.
Aphasia only furthered his recalcitrance
as he was always aiming to abrogate helots.
He had no ambition to try to ameliorate every single
flibbertigibbet on the planet, every ninnyhammer
and dangling metonym. Like a moth chewing its way
out of a cocoon, he recused excessive indolence. Then
exercising prudent judgement, he let tiny lemmings
navigate their odd philologies through sun’s schism.
Thomas Piekarski is a former editor of the California State Poetry Quarterly. His poetry and interviews have appeared in Nimrod, Portland Review, Kestrel, Cream City Review, Poetry Salzburg, Boston Poetry Magazine, Gertrude, The Bacon Review, and many others. He has published a travel guide, Best Choices In Northern California, and Time Lines, a book of poems. He lives in Marina, California.