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Tyrannical Chemistry

If inclined so my brain
      Mingles with the mundane
            To offer alchemical bliss

Strange, this same organ
      Drapes putrefied garments
            On beauty, an onerous kiss

Fear grips my "me":
      This synaptical buzz
            That I won't ever see,
                  How much less understand

Distorts my surroundings
      With crafty postmodern
            And languid I lounge
                  In the palm of its hand.

Carl Olson


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