The Afinity Sonnet*
A ride from which there is no buck,
Almost every lad has had this wish.
We cheat and scheme and dream and fuck,
But from this track there can be no switch.
As surely as bulls and trains may semlessly
be conflated; there exists no escape in every ring
we have created. For death is true and ruthlessly
it jests: on our way out– as when come in– we cling
to breasts, recycled tropes we must endure
no longer: parse every eternity cast of finite stuff,
encrypt your histrionic plots and salt the saccharine score
no stronger. False cure for false infinity: redoubt romantic love,
redouble strife. In stead make your lot a Multiplicity:
Trouble four Michael Keatons to please, take your wife.
*As inspired by the closing couplet of September 28, 2009‘s entry.