ANGELA BALL

Our Laws

We've found that house painters confirm their reputation
For drinking a lot, though they drink nothing
That resembles paint.

We wonder about Edward Marsh, who seemed to want just one poetry,
Or at least not poetry that is "gravy imitating lava."

We want poetry that is spaghetti
Imitating vipers; grits imitating quicksand,
And vice versa.

Why won't somebody write another Art of Laughing?
It's been a long time.

We encourage the sedation of buildings and bridges
Though we hope that the world
Will remain unfinished
With us on its scaffolding.

Since the establishment of downs and the origin of signals
In 1882, along with blocking, tackling, shifts, and formations
Involving townspeople and schoolboys, we've enjoyed
A magic, elliptical history.

Though we should not forget, the more primitive the region,
The greater the need for the simple canoe.

In truth, most activities can be traced back
To lawn bowling.

Each day we bask in the silence of our laws.

Our Epistemology

Will this accursed learning never stop?
I long for stasis and three meals a day.
Still, I've not forgotten my origins
On a desk overlooking Acapulco,

Or that guns inhibit understanding
Admirably, gold mines are great
For containing the poor, only shoes
Mate for life, you've got to keep the grass worn down
Between humor and tragedy, the question

Of Heisenberg's motives remains open, signs
Are signs, and a "highball"
Can be a signal to start a train.