many many tickle a parson

when you're about to find out
what life is about and how to get out
of interior space where the arrow of time
points to a place when the numbers are prime
and then you will know and then you will grumble
but you're a Dumb Schmoe and you need to be humble.

when you're about to equate
telos and eros in every debate
engaged but impregnable, casuistry strikes
and you can't even say "yikes!"
for fear of infantilistic definitives
at the very periphery of mercantilistic derivatives

for as it is written so shall it be
that writers are bitten inexorably
the moving hand writs and having writ moves on
to the land of the Medes and the Persians it's gone
where never you'll find a fat priest or a parson
or too mene mene and tekel upharsin.

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