The human brain wants to complete— The poem too easy? Bored. The poem too hard? Angry. What’s this one about? Around the block the easy summer weather, the picture-puff clouds adrift in the blue sky that’s no paint-by-numbers. In the corner garden, the cabbage butterfly bothers the big leafy heads, trying to complete its life cycle by hatching a horned monster to chew holes in the green cloth manufactured so laboriously by seed germ from air, water, light, dirt. There’s no end to this, yes, no end. Even when we want to stop, stop, stop! Even when someone else calls us monster. Even when we fear and hope that we will not have the final word.