a mamaist post-modernist serenade

Be a puffer, boney-plated, spiney, ossicled. Breathe secure.
Network the anastomosing selves, suppley, freely...Grace with thee
in full, enfolding, yet uncontained 
by any save all.
Be a polymorph but never redundant (as in the man he said);
Be copious, pleiotropic, but please no one
    or nothing as a drudge. 
Be abundant, crystalline throughout (as Pluto would have you),
     worth plundering but never subject to plunder.
Be a plumule. 
In the presence of the genus "plug-uglius," however, drupe unedible, plow 
     under.
Plumb the moment for its pathos,
for its poiesis,
tactful, pneumotropic.
Sinking neither into mud nor mire, 
poacher, unless it be poco a poco,
      expressive of imaginative awareness only.
If poised point-blank, depart
as a point of honor,
for polarity's sake. The dusty bloom
of your eyelash
would impregnate the world.
Polyonymous, the poor, not petty,
will know you.
Posthumous you already are.
Now append, post-haste, this note (how sweet the sound)
to grace's amazing proof, already
prayed for, 
perceived,
that would not (no, not ever) pre-empt the past,
but would redeem it
re-read, without prejudice,
serenely serpentine, as serio-comic serifs
   (& seraphs)of serendipity. 




Botsford, Alan. mamaist: learning a new language. Kamakura, Japan, Minato No Hito, 2002.