Hard Produces Hard and Soft

The poet is just plain peculiar if

He opposes cosmic law.  Unique

Is what that law requires.  If there’s a whiff

Of uniformity,  a tiny tweak

Is DNA-deployed.  This law insists

On freaks.  No perfect copy is allowed.

There always have to be mutated twists.

The law of quirks is rigidly unbowed.

The poet mirrors vagaries across

Creation.  That is why the dogs become

A poodle or chihuahua—or a cross.

If not, the situation would turn numb.

  What’s in the poet is outside him, too.

    Hard chance will turn a sonnet’s eyes to blue.

~ Phillip Whidden