Autobiography, Part 1
The Squirrel of Discord
Ratatoskr lives in our Arboretum.
He gnaws at my nights like buried acorns
Unearthed, nibbled, and left as powdered crumbs
Along the gravel trails. Unities are scorned;
Quarks are freed from proton prisons; the principles
Of physics are lost to his verbiage; He
Splits my infinitives; parts my iciples;
Assigns papers; red marks; schizoid capers; lengthy
Frantic sojourns up and down the wrinkled ash tree
Yggdrasil (rooted outside my curtained window)
Which defies His feet and spreads its hoary shade-boughs.
But its nuts? Crunched. Munched. Lunched in violent entropy.
His Jaws. His Claws. Acute sparks— singe, jab, puzzle, flow—
who knows? But they reign, for sure. Ratatoskr has Tenure.