#96 - With No Parameters

the poem spreads like a crap infection
tunneling its way into places
it has no business going -

oh, here it is tackling global poverty
in a borish, scattershot way
while simultaneously

meditating, scrunch-browed,
on the first leaf of autumn,
a disquisition which leads it onto

fractals, and a breezy tour
of quantum physics containing
several factual errors within

just four lines.
Please, give me my cage bars.
These shackles keep my ankles warm.