Reason

Reason doesn't understand
the ways he makes with his hand,
the clever lever of his promised plan,
the garbage he makes of souls, others grand.
Reason is confounded, slack-jawed astounded,
confused, its guesses impounded
drooling with introspection
navigating the resurrection.
Reason too must bow,
dumb found in his heart.
Raising a toast lowers the steam
of cackled throats trying to sing.