Even you cannot plug
        The tyranny of holes.
        At birth you crawled out
        Of a bleeding hole.
        The ounce of air you sucked
        With your first breath

        Was peppered with holes.
        Now, while living your life,
        You bump into holes of all
        Imaginable shapes and sizes:
        Square holes and round holes,

        Dwarf holes and giant holes,
        Half holes and full holes,
        Holes in socks and pockets,
        Delicious lubricated holes,
        And black holes in space.
        Even your very body is
        Composed of breathing holes--
        The pores in your skin,
        Yes all your orifices
        Are nothing but holes.
        Even in your grey mind

        You imagine an open manhole
        Where you slip and fall
        Each time you wax existential,
        Which proves the axiom

        That life itself is one
        Big hole in the head.
        Even in your sleep you
        Slide down a nightmare.
        Indeed, holes are the stuff
        Dreams are made of.
        Even all religions agree

        That hell is a fiery
        Bottomless hole.
        Sometimes you can sense
        That your soul is a balloon
        Full of holes through which
        Divine afflatus escapes and hisses.

        Finally, just before you
        Say goodbye to this
        Hole-in-the-wall world,
        You've no choice but dig
        Your own wormy hole.

Copyright © Felix Fojas, 2001.  All Rights Reserved.