AUTOBIOGODRIVEL

I started to write my autobiography, then,

I sneezed, and sneezed, and sneezed again.

I blew out onto the page words and memories,

And, probably, tiny particles of my brain.

So, I have assembled this miscellany,

From the stains that remained.

I am an unpleasant peasant pedant,

And an excited observer of ants,

A wiper of damp patches;

I miss the taste of postage stamps.

Once I had a god-given omen,

An eagle’s feather floating down from a clear sky,

It fell at my feet silently,

And I just walked on by.

I stack volumes on shelves,

Suck up dust with a machine.

My only traditional is breakfast,

But I am averse to beans.

And not one word of this matters,

Or means very much at all,

As I’m an atom in an atom in an atom,

On a cosmic billiard ball.