Smithereens

Just as Caesar fills a bunghole,

Shakespeare’s clay’s (like his plays) inside of us today.

Our not too solid flesh stays fresh for only so long

Looking for the tiny pieces of others in us:

Smith-ereens and Wilde-beans in me.

I could sublet my house and subdivide myself

to search smaller and smaller worlds.

There, pluck the electromagnetic spectrum

with my spectrographic plectrum –

sound, wave to magnetism,

o o o ripe ripples ripping once again in rings (sings).

This is the sound of singing: o o o

June 29