He habitually condescends to my frames of thinking
Without consequence
That he is so much aloof to his superiority,
It seems not matter that I am so base

There in our conversations,
He allows my prattle—
A crescendo of soliloquy that would hardly form an intelligent stanza
In want to elevate if only by his dialogue—
To carom into a golden ratio of sense
By mere superiority of his acute ear
And the generosity of wit he lends me,

So all of this which bathes perilously in the kiddie pool
Appear more competent swimmers.

He is able-of-most-any-thing that he can do this one silly thing.

04/07/2011

Posted on 04/08/2011
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