Tyrannical Chemistry If inclined so my brain       Mingles with the mundane             To offer alchemical bliss Strange, this same organ       Drapes putrefied garments             On beauty, an onerous kiss Fear grips my "me":       This synaptical buzz             That I won't ever see,                   How much less understand Distorts my surroundings       With crafty postmodern             And languid I lounge                   In the palm of its hand. Carl Olson