Assorted notions come and go at random,
Afloat inside the mind’s kaleidoscope.
Related thoughts are seldom linked in tandem—
By no fault of my own, I dare to hope.
The graph of truth and error is stochastic,
With slippery slopes of bell curves everywhere;
Concise accounts are always periphrastic,
And equable environments are rare.
A lemming handed me a memorandum
Directly from the office of the Boss:
For spastic flights we wax enthusiastic—
Just leap across, or grab an albatross.