Existence Problem

We have an existence problem.
We are not here,
Then we are born.
We are here but
Other things aren't quite,
Like UFOs: celebrity can
Fetch the mail with
His shirt buttoned wrong
And pictures are everywhere;
UFO can shut down airports
And cameras record fuzz.
Then we die and
Don't exist except
As fuzz photographed
Over seances.
Seance is a congress
Of disembodied souls
Like Internet discussions.
You can fetch email
In a fuzzy shirt and
Never get photographed
At all, which means
You are an unidentified
Flying celebrity
Or do not exist.

Wasn't Me

Scylla is an old
Monster, six sailor-snatching
Heads and the yelp
Of unhappy hounds.

It lives in a cave by the sea.

Scylla has twelve feet
Clawed into rock
Inside of me and

Overlooks the course of thought.

Doesn't mind destinations,
Care where they're bound,
Ill or well, canoes or
Columbus in his caravel

And lives in a cave by the sea.

Scylla leaves them
Derelict on tides --cargoes
Go where cargo goes
When no one decides

What follows fear at sea.

Goofy dog heads.
Goofy me could save them
All --barge, brigantine, ketch.

Throw six sticks from Scylla, then yell

"Fetch!" But in this cave
I haven't the heart to
See my monster rip apart.