the lost man chronicles
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(Occam’s Razor) the dull blade

life is nothing like a straight line
if anything, it might be defined
as a wayward ellipse,
a curve that swerves sporadically
with a path evolving-revolving
spinning like a vertigo.


fly me to the moon
and we will have to bend
my trajectory
to get me there—
projectiling, orbiting
softly in the middle
of the sea of tranquility

pluralitas est ponenda
everyday, it is merely when
we exhaust, when we age and tire,
that we simplify to aid the cause,
otherwise, we should wonder endlessly,
revel, revere, awe and splash
about in all love’s splendor.

sometimes, we might even steer clear
of any explanation at all, for revelation
has often proven to be the privy
to all who allow their imagination to
revel in plurality and forsake logic.

for sure, i readily contradict
and argue less is more:
erase, rase, ase, se, e
sometimes. spring cleaning,
purging, simplification
helps cleanse the mind.

but otherwise i am inclined
to claim that i would not
take a blade to anything.
this school of thought is
nothing but a monk’s dream
for the more we know
the further we dig
the more we uncover
the more we discover
the more we delight
and realize
how intricate life really is.

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