Age Of Jester Poem by Robert L. Bixler III

Trapped in Newtonian logic,
I was lost in a sea of rationale.
Blinded in encompassing physique,
Entranced in jesting femme fatale.

With unbending scientific step,
I test the solid state standard
As she tests my misstep,
Hopeless romanticism surrendered.

In technical jargonic babble,
I explain away my ability to love.
With a soft smile, seductive dabble,
She breaks the analytic latex glove.

Steady hands, lab proficient,
Align the reasoned pieces’ fold.
With luscious lip moment
Dreamt, my hands shake cold.

Her soft alluring eyes gravitate
My every thought closer to the infinite.
Lost in her eyes, I can fully relate
With iron’s attraction to the magnet.

As I derived Jester’s true intention,
I had no desire to break orbit,
To leave my satellite position
And forfeit my illy flawed gambit.

Drawn to an engulfing black whole,
Like light itself, I was incapable of escaping her.
Aware of the destination of this wormhole,
I would, again, live in the Age of Jester.