Half Full
To say that you're positively negative or negatively positive,
An optimistic pessimist or a pessimistic optimist,
Would be, objectively, to completely shortchange objectivity,
Call a one-eyed ace of jacks a three-eyed queen of kings,
A Tarot deck's passionately embracing lovers
A choir of earnestly devout, high-pitched altar boys
(Set upon by the entire archdiocese of pedophilic priests
Claiming Vatican City as their seraglio away from home),
The Einsteinian theory of relativity Heydrich's Final Solution.
On the other seven of Octopussy's suckered tentacular hands,
It would hardly be fair to say
That you're the most totally kosher mensch on your block,
In Skokie, Crown Heights, Mea Shearim, U. City, Auschwitz-Birkenau,
That your intentions are beyond reproach, rapprochement,
Or that the crucial moment when poached eggs
Turn from molten yolk to a chicken frozen in time's amber
Is the defining lifetime of your fifteen seconds of infamy's celebrity,
Your shining hour of tarnished glory, atop Mount Crucified.
To say anything, with too opinionated a sense of demonstrable hubris,
Indeed and forsooth and hallelujah and Achtung!, amen,
Would be to confuse your interpretation of the conventional wisdom
That does what it can to obfuscate arcane and esoteric signs.
Perhaps we should let well enough alone,
Let what is be, not disturb the received word,
Honor you, the man (you da man!), when, in all candor, you confess,
"I always see the glass half full . . . of shit,"
And respect you for the Diogenistic honesty of your ambivalence.
07/22/10
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