E, Ellipse

Elliptical. Lip lip. How
to get the bloody body
in line, in lines
of the analytical mind.
Orbiting around
a felt sense. Tel. Do Tell.
Teltf; autocorrects as Geoff.
Bringing us back to flesh.
Who are you Geoff
and what is the meaning
therein. Meaning of you
appearing here. Platinum
robot hair, sinewy
neck and Swiss
liederhosen. It’s not my
cup o’ caffein. Nein . . .
Welcome to omission
by ellipses. A drama in
unknown # of acts. A life-
time of episodes starring
yours truly and off-to-the-
side could be Geoff. Neither
your cortex nor mine
escapes folding like this,
like crumbled paper
to achieve convolutions:
that’s what happened. Did
you know. Groove
in the ridges, squish in
the skull, neurologists
agree. Nervy of them.
Soon another furrow
will come along, revolve 
with the program, replace
concepts or characters.
Geoff was not long for this
show. Boats float on pink
noise—ocean waves—not
white. Sonic hues, these.
The bass cranked up, shhh
with a low rumble mixed in, like
rain. It’s the exact midpoint
between randomness and
correlated movement. Less
harsh a sound than
others because, get this:
we hear in octaves, not
linearly. Lipse is something
I do when I read my poetry,
you said. I mean lisp. Leaving
out letters, eclipsing
words. Lipsis. Menolipsis.
See, back to the ovaries.
But this isn’t temporary,
it’s forever. I always think
I’ll have a second
chance, thank you Ben
Franklin. I hear your Virtues,
but our science hasn’t caught
up to your Errata. They
probably think they have, but
O, so many brains, puffed-up,
they are, and O so logical.