Essentially, a grouping of wordplay.
Dark “Matter?” Dark Mind ?
As galaxies outwardly swing,
The “mystery mass” is the thing:
They thought it was gravity
But All is a cavity—
So Physics was left holding strings.
The Lunatic’s Limerick
It’s lunacy to be orthodox.
Utter foolishness, God’s paradox!
God nailed on a beam?
His unique regime?
A bare tomb is our life’s equinox?
He thought his poems buoyant and zephyrous.
The editor’s note was obstreperous:
“Your zealous hyperbole,
Has made your consistency leprous.”
Not Plato’s Cave
I am not an aging curmudgeon—
Sidestep blurting out wordy bludgeons.
Yet being too adamant,
She said “You’re recalcitrant.”
(I moped all night in my man-cave dungeon.)