Lonely Were A Thesis Poem by Walter Burns

lonely were a thesis
of bones and stretched connections
a carcass-sized selection
of a hundred thousand lines

who’d read this thesis, the sis?
spitting hiss after sputter
false hopes? (not your mother)
false starts? (not your father)
who would even bother?

not your packed-bag professor
(a prim de la prim obsessor)
not your spouse inside the house
not your friend upon the mend
not your hat not your cat
not even your welcome mat

they’d spill their divining essence
and wait ‘til christmas. Presents
a thesis that made no sound

full of furry
sig: defy nothing
the title of this the thesis:
lonely and in pisces…