The Little House That Jack Built

There was a house here once,
Which used to house a jackass
Peering from an opening

That used to be a door
When a passerby appeared,
But he peers no more.

No more Jack, no more house,
No more door, no more glaring
Jackass, broken stones galore.

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Life Studies Light

Of its myriad meanings
One remains essential,

Which leads one to ask
If light is of the essence,

What is the essence of light?

Baudelaire for Dummies

Hypocrite lecteur,—mon semblable,—mon frère!

Fooled by this hapless effort
Passing itself off as a poem?

A wretch like you wrote it.

Suspension of Disbelief

As long as the clouds remain

Suspended, one must have
A mind—not that kind—
Of a lunatic, not to think

The moon is unmoving,
And be moved in turn
By the mind that does.