Saturday, 31 July 2010

The Tossed Coin

Midair, and winking,
an eyelid that flickers

an REM of cupronickel,
silvered eyeball blank

with numismatic bliss,
the abdicated will-to-choose

heads, I shall follow my brain
tails, I shall follow my dick.

Any coin-tossing man knows.
All choices, at root, are this choice.