Master of the World

Satan would often taunt him in the later years,
an old woman's ears so huge he'd find the earrings
so laughably small against their titanic vegetable natures:

"The only thing more stupid than life itself,
is that which human beings have thought about it."

Which to him seemed sort of affable, a bon bon?
He could not ape disguise, but instead wore them out
into the beyond. There is nothing but inscription.
No writing is writing, and breathing is writing,
and the specific meaning of the writing is itself
unknown even when the contours are specifically
guided, for within the absolute ubiquity of inscription
there is a collective contour whose shape is absolutely
lyrical, and absolutely unknown, or one suspects

that suddenly
one is gliding atop a fantastic styrofoam ship
over the lava fields
an ant on a leaf which is melting

a smell of dog and cupboard
a mouse interred in an old dutch shoe

vikings
and tupperware