Numbered Reflection by bijection :
A rally of tally for elemental
Determination ;  subjecting objects
To correspondence for inclusion,
Or mining by defining to preclude
Standing out in any given set,
And yet, an unknown hidden in a gap
Can suddenly flap from a pigeonhole,
Or a reclining eight knocks at the gate
Picking the lock of the latch that batches :
Pilot without a wingman flying solo—
Daunting flaunters discounting counting .

*[ WSB ]_.

The clouds release the rain at dawn
Onto the crazy goats that climb
Atop the double-storied barns
That are painted red and unused .
The horizontal pupils gaze
The periphery of the glade
To see the sun peep from behind
The parting thunderheads aflash .

The woodland hides the horizon
For the groundlings near jaggéd wire ;
But once trip-trapping on tin roofs,
Angular eyes mark foreign fields .
The earliest domestic stock
Peers across green and wonders :
Nannies, billies, and cabritos ;
The flock of grandfather ibex .

The kids linear, parallel,
Crowd the matriarch to receive
Three point five percent butterfat ;
Without shepherds the livestock stands,
No farmhouse appears near the scene .
These quadrupeds of silly voice,
Without the aid of husbandry,
Magically subsist apart .

Agile with balance of ninjas,
Goats long to scale mountain walls,
Beyond the galvanized barn tops,
Ever heavenward, curious .
An escape artist testing pens,
The animal resists herding,
Constantly nibbling at restraint,
An inquisitive ruminant .

O, wise goat with a flowing beard,
Ascendant tail ;  the shackles cleared .

*[ WSB ]_.

This is the tale of the very Who-beast
Carved by the Grinch for the Whoville feast.
The creature in question was a Gǝzu
That grazed up high in the grassy puffoo .
She lived with others in a sizable herd
Nuzzling her family without any words .
When moving en masse, the ground would thunder .
So, standing apart presented a blunder .
Aloof in pink grass, delicious to chew,
One day she was ambushed by hunting Whos .
Thus, blushing grass on the eve of the fête
Led to the Who-beast garnished on a plate .

*[ WSB ]_.

*[ WSB ]_.

Reality reduces to some equation / s,
Maybe with the eloquence of E = mc²,
Or some Eulerian masterpiece .
But Hawking wondered,

“ What is it that breathes fire into the equations
And makes a universe for them to describe ” ?
One posits a space-time matrix with at least one ego .
Space, time, and a self hovering in darkness :
Not to be imagined away—
Containment ?

Organisms capture bits of reality
Within unique sensory parameters—
Different realities .   However,
One is tempted to infer some grand,
Albeit unobservable, ultimate truth .
What, exactly ?

I side with Kant :
It depends on the box one is in ;  unless,
One can escape, or
Look over the edge thereon :

Maybe 14 × 3 .

*[ WSB ]_.

*[ WSB ]_.

No matter the size, power source or brand,
Flashlights die swiftly in the hands of Kerri .
No viable theory has explained this
Unreasonable phenomenon—
A violation of Newtonian law .

The first flashlight to expire in her youthful,
Energy–draining hands does so after clearing
Christmas wrapping ;  in go the batteries
Which promptly cease functioning in five minutes,
The next set, the same ;  exchanging the gift
The day after changes nothing at all .

Then came the night the car quit on the country lane .

“ Crap ! ”

The 1100 lumens find the defective fuse—
Then darkness rushes into the car .

*[ WSB ]_.

*[ WSB ]_.

*[ WSB ]_.

Well, his wife’s name is Cindi ;
And his dog’s name is Fozzy Bear ;
And he lives about two blocks from The Cruiser
And I know—’cause I saw him there.

His name is Ron—
Ron Cuzowski !
His name is Ron—
Ron Cuzowski !

⸻He’s just a Polish boy from Michigan,
Moved on down to San Anton’ :

Now he works for *SARPMA
—And calls Texas his home .

*San Antonio Real Property Maintenance Agency

*[ WSB ]_.