This one's really boring.
[LAUGHTER]
But it's the last one.
I already planned to read it, so here you go.
[LAUGHTER]
"This ant is a lead pencil.
And thus, it is implied that I have its full consent
to use it as such, as writing implement.
When the ant locks its eyes with me,
I understand that I am to hold it in my writing hand with
sincere, full-bodied respect and all the diligence and care that
the situation requires of me, that I will not press too hard
for fear of breaking its ant neck,
that I will give adequate--" that's for you, Lissie--
"pause between words, no matter how fast the thought flows."
She was telling me that some people say "ja-qwet"
and some people say "ja-ket," so "adequate."
[LAUGHTER]
I lost my place.
"Thus it should come as no surprise
that it has taken me a long time to write these very words.
And yet here you come, irrationally
demanding to know why it takes me so long to write a poem when
we could be doing other things, like untangling
the kite from the oak tree.
No, you can't have everything, especially not all at once.
The ant, after briefly wondering if the kite in the oak tree
might eventually become a source of reprieve,
is holding the position.
Is it a patient ant, or resigned ant, or hopeful ant,
or even resplendent?
It is interesting how people think.
[LAUGHTER]
The ant--
[LAUGHTER]
Thanks for laughing later.
I like the--
I feel like a stand-up or something.
It's really funny.
Um, I lost my place again.
"The ant has graciously agreed to not exert
its own forces upon my writing.
It has relinquished all editing rights,
will allow consistent release of its lead
so as to lend itself to smooth delivery of language on paper.
It will have fulfilled its duties to the letter,
though not without questioning why it, as an ant,
should have to be a lead pencil, after all.
Look at all those other ants who are not lead pencils
but are clouds, or glasses of wine, or motorcycles.
Look at them.
Some are even just ants, ants as ants as ants as ants."
OK, those are The Ant poems.