How easy it is

To dibble and dabble,

To dribble and drool.

For the honest man's answer

Is usually this:

"Anything I please."

I may jive, and give jist

To any sort of conceptual mist

But if I list too far off the beaten path,

I myself will be "beaten".

Like eggs,

Which emulsify a universally recognized conglomeration

Of ingredients,

Which I so defiantly am included.

Originality?

More accurately, rehashing.

But am I to ask

The ubiquitous inquiry,

"Why and from where does meaning

Formulate and give flight?"

Inspite of obvious

And oblivious subjectivity,

Who would one be

If they didn't pry

Into such a trite question?

Congruent and convoluted,

The projections of our manners

Float yet sink simultaneously,

Like flying tile

Or submerging birds.

"You jest!"

"So absurd!"

Merely words.

A product of lude and idealized

Reactants.

If balanced, the composition

Of our beguiled raiments would read:
                                     (in the presence of pressure)
N2 + O2 + CO2 + ect. --------------------------------------> "Choice"

But rejoice!

For our dissillusioned schemas

Have all been so playfully

Tacked and embelished.

Captivated air,

Manifesting in ink,

And it all holds a net volume

Of nil.

A pill is a thrill.

A 'tit' is for 'tat'.

And I, to you, and the aggregate,

A transparent crest and creed.