Legendary, pin-striped Medusa, fleshed out on the 8.45,
A vision leafing gingerly through Tuesday’s' electronic "Times"
Pursing, too easily, Monday’s ups and downs like tonight’s football scores
Someone always wins, and someone always looses, the rest is history
But there is no mystery, anymore, that cannot decipher such lexicons,
Like her, there is no doubt, or obscurity, to be had in the entomologist’s
Book, life is written into everything, like Drosophila melanogaster genes
They are the monosyllables that protect us from the cosmic night
From colum-to-framed-colum and from sleeper-to-awakening-sleeper
We gently lose momentum, “A signal fault at Clapham Junction” no doubt
Sighing into unison, regular nine-fivers fated like Asechylus’s elderly Chorus
To finish out their apportioned sentences in everyman’s cryptic- cross-words
Where naked gardens uncoil majestically through the slumbering caterpillars
We shall arrive too- a rough chrysalis of sorts- A Candelabra with Heads
A brown ticker-taped Medusa, A Mannequinn, as erect as a desert Cactus.