“. . . requiring all one’s criminal ingenuity
       to avoid!”
--- Marianne Moore, from “Marriage”

Instead, let us apply
our criminal ingenuity
to other things,
               like wearing lugs
on dactyls,
on “I am”s
and “I do”s,
                       lugs that never settled
like monarchs or painted ladies,
               or anything so fragilely
forged,
       but that fit the arc
of “circular traditions,” of minds tuning
       again and again
a “crystal-fine experiment,”
                       whose flaws
are radiant too, and undimmed
by insinuations like “institution,”
“enterprise,” and “fiddle-head ferns.”

Let us apply our criminal
                       ingenuity
to tunneling our way into union’s murk,
though we might discover nothing
more extraordinary
                       than a small gray
mouse, nervous, with its naked tail
encompassing a thumb-big form,
               or, than a muscle,
snapped tight into our back like an unanswered
question,
or, than creases of ruggae that round
us out and pamper our joy.

Let us apply our criminal ingenuity
to fastening ourselves
to serendipidies,
spieling and spiegeling, noodling
and doodling,
lying beneath any tree we want,
eating our fruit, and
whistling between our teeth
               vagabond tunes
about the wonder of palaces, mountains,
and monopolists
so out of touch
as to blush to have a spouse
with hair like a shaving brush.

Indeed, turn to the letter M
and let us muse on marryin’ more:

When we’ve unsheathed
our disputatious teeth
               and torn our ears to bits,
let us apply our criminal
                       ingenuity to the minting
of words all our own, like
       Glucksfehleninterpretationen,
whose polysyllables smooth the pricks
and barbs,
and the hair on our neck,
and the cuspids, our eyes’
teeth,
and the hungry swords
of our tongues.

Let us apply our criminal ingenuity
to hatching macaques
from their cells deep inside us,
from their dark confinement
in our animal skin,
               wet, hairy, and toothless,
and then dress them in duds
               like humans wear,
until they worm and squirm
free from our arms
and wander the face of the world
to find their own homes.

Let us apply our criminal ingenuity
               to the piratic joy
of sinking the devilish old idols
                       of who we were
               that will one day (or, that already) slip
like mercury from memory,
sleek and snake-like,
       and poisonous,
and so let us grow from them
new shadows every day,
as long
and light
               as this morning’s sidewalks’
silhouettes.

copyright,  © 2007 Eric Reymond