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From Reader's Digest June 1990
In the park I walked base by base
Cars, though seemingly complacent,
Quelled by the weeds, inching forward
Into the gravel, which in itself stopped
As the fences stood minor particles.
Up for these is down and sound is round;
What are cars and what is a fence?
In the eighth region suddenly white became
One third less in shade until white wasn't
As it always was and I couldn't be sure
Where anything goes. I wish I knew where
I went, I told myself, while walking the trail
Of the comea, and found in the retinal vessels
Catching up with the front turning pupils grey.
And thus we describe to our dear readers
A curious incident that was found within
The ancient clay tablets where the inscription
Is held, perfectly, about the statues who
Thought they could live one day in the ninth
Region, known as the flesh, but warned in the
Moment of pondering could instead be turned,
Forever back, into their true form.
