..maybe it was the fish I had for lunch

by Samuel Derrick Rosen

.....but I saw no one within you
that could remotely be defined
or made
a pasquinade of tenderness
It was something
between the conscious and the unconscious
Something that had ceased but now restarts
from a universe that leaves no traces
made simultaneously
stone and flesh, right and wrong,
ancient and contemporary  Something
that tells me stupidity
can wield its own wisdom
Something that possesses its own
end of the night
and the strange pleasures
of suffering long into daylight.

Anarchy always is misunderstood.