JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

In the washing machine
of time’s unsorted colors
theories tumble and mingle
emerging and cascading
in uncertain frequency

 

Round and round they go
appearing and vanishing
like quantum undergarments
in whirling rainbow wheels

 

An unmarried professor
of physics or philosophy
at an American university
or a cat, watching curiously
through the glass thickly
might experience a similar
headachy sensation of
bewilderment, replacing
previous complacency
with the only consistent
perception being

The thud of the drum
as it monotonously orbits
backwards and forwards
and the fragrant questions
of the suds
as they spin