Existence Is Essence Poem by Matthew Buchwald

If we assume the existence of scorpions on the Moon,
But looking backwards are unable to find that heliotropes
Were resurrected with indolence or anguish; if we assume

That all looking glasses are malodorous in cacophony,
But are thwarted by marble filigrees of piety; if we assume
Their existence, then they will be submerged in the sorrowful

Discharge of a frenzied rainbow and pulverize themselves
By combusting and devouring rapture; if we assume
The paltriness of such vertigo as permeates the scabby

Chasms and purple-veined eyelids of phantasms swarming
The unctuous cobblestones of winter's delirium which
In no way recoils from the void of dreams; if we assume

That shadows or furor, rain or nostalgia, brambles or oboes,
Each is ejected from as many privies as there are, then
The ears flow chartreuse, the woman sits and sews her eyes, the

Embryo must then devolve itself below the germ, and the
Blue curves of the fairest night are in tune with torpor, and
Cruelty is unsexed by the niceness of calamity turning to stone.