Hans Ostrom Poems

He is a nervous, wealthy man.
He fidgets, squirms, and giggles; counts,
Divides, and multiplies. He rubs
His face. And when he comes into
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I’ve watched squirrels my whole life. They
inhabit a zone just outside domesticity, are
diplomatically wild. They worry and stare,
behaviors of which I approve. They horde
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If I understand Einstein
correctly, and I don’t,
my whereabouts are, strictly
speaking, unknown.
...

“Excuse me. Are you in philosophy? ”
“Yes.”
“What are we doing today? ”
“Not much. We just talked about reality.”
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Night Hunt

circa 1963
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There’s a legend hereabouts
concerning a commuter
O infinitely on his way.
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In Oklahoma and everywhere, despair
only makes life seem more unyielding.
A better tactic is to signify that life
is what it is: If you practice law, fly
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There’s no theater that’s not
theater of the absurd because
in every case humans sit
observing humans acting
...

He glimpsed the door
that opens in
on Nothing’s core;
it’s the same door
...

I take full responsibility for
what I’m about to write, which is
that when she eats chocolate, some
ends up in a corner of her mouth.
...