of which
is humor
and of
which is
life
that our
dry mouths
gape
at the beauty
of death?  
old princesses
and young
hobgoblins
will
laugh at
our
naiveté
that imitates
picnic blankets
and checker boards.
"Many perished
precisely
because
they were young
and beautiful."

Andre Breton
laughs
with our age
and our age
laughs
at time
and time laughs
at half
played grand pianos
and full moons
and they laugh
at our fingers
which fumble
at life
and life
fumbles through
humor.

of which is humor
and of
which is life
we wonder
as water clogged
ears strain to
hear.
or listen?