Language's Low

I have a word for everything,

from morphemes and sentences

to subatomic particles and mystical philosophy

—everything except wonder,

my out-of-stock commodity.

Logic on stilts

has become unhandsome.

So I approach this streetlamp star

to ask, wonder, where you are!

And now the headlights bend

like anxious, icy comets.

Car after car after car after car . . .

but none of them know my thought after thought

after thought after thought.

No connection is made,

whether by the pane or on the sidewalk,

my telescopes to the ordinary.

Must I relate to the world literally?

LED, aluminum, plastic, and halogen

do not impress metaphors and similes.