Undulating Logic

By Ashton Peveril
He was mad
Category: stark-raving
Beard rutted and mangy
He never looked while shaving

His hair
No better
And I am sorry to report
His head looked like
The mountain
Of a western ski resort

He began a firm
Amid growing heat
And proclamations of line toe-ers
All the fruit he could eat
From his own “Maine Orange Growers”

Is it navel gazing?
Or life examination?
Moth or butterfly?
Will there come a determination?
As clear as the blue sky?

Avoided the grind
Only to be ground
Like a pound
Of Arabica coffee
Now to be left
Bemused, bereft
In a state of nullity