I'm caught in a quandry between my
brain and my eyes.
The one insists on depth, the other
merely size,
But in a dazzling display of both
variety and scope,
While the one has thrown off training
like an undesired yolk.
My better angels try to tell me
when–and not–to try,
While the TV shows me goals enough to
fill my insect eyes.
I can change everything I am to get
what I'm told I want,
Or be only what I am, and mostly
pleased with what I've got.
No comments:
Post a Comment