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We look up into a bland day surrounded
by a blue sky halting above
green trees and houses,
bird baths bubbling over with soggy birds,
to see it shimmer, reflecting the sun:
a bulbous drone and conical wallop
flaunting its glossy weight within flat scales—
a giant lopping insect high
on gas that croons to the stars such flatulent
strains from down below,
a harpy writes these lines alive with
lurching hobbilant music
that bears no moral weight,
nor hungers for order,
or justice—just a fat silver
flower blown up—a fish on the horizon
swimming slow as glass,
wishing us imaginary, futile, vainglorious.
by Joel Giroux
from: Larger than
Still Life, ©2003
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