The Chameleon Poem

Th’hardcase mermaid hung out to dry,

the refuted ideas reinforced for sheer
disharmony, Python’s ways are lurking

behind the door she left ajar

for whirlwinds, epiphanies,… Fountains of blood!
It goes, and: Squirting from levelled necks!

The soundness of logic, Evidence, none

of this decapitator Science
will stop the ringing in th’inner ear,

or has your poem started morphing?

Washed-out noise beseeching the Void
of speech and still, a pair of desires

converge on one and the same Impossible.