If I speak of such drivel and drab
It's because as I lay in bed, clothed up in rags
I begin writing the most interesting thing in the world
What is the most interesting thing you ask?
It is the loosest and most fluid thing you can think
It is able to float and it is able to sink
Able to dance and able to wink
It can sit in a chair
and walk down the stairs
and it can even explode in a blink
Curious in thought it will say "gloopious gobrackle"
While the ice catches fire, the chicken answers the phone
And the lamp does a jig before going on home
The books begin chatting
the tupperware's dancing
and the soap bar is still all alone.
The most interesting thing is not here nor there
It exists and it doesn't, depending on mood
It dost not matter if cunning or shrewd
It comes and it goes as it pleases.
It may try to rhyme, it may try to sing
but it never is completely understandable
It may even fail
to follow a consistent pattern of rhythm
But even still it eludes fathomability.
The most interesting thing
is perfect and clean
while also a full can of trash
It can be first
or it can be last
It may not be anything at all.
It is hard to follow,
cannot be contained
while also not quite out of grasp
The more you don't see it,
the more that you do
It exists in the future and also the past.
I guess the beauty of the most interesting thing,
is that as I speak of such drivel and drab
I can lay in my bed clothed up in some rags
and yet this world still cannot define
the most interesting thing within it.
YOU ARE READING
The Margins of Error
PoetryA collection of brief distracting poems by an equally distracted author. The Door is open, feel free to step inside.
