Am I Not Playing?

The play is at play.
Seriously. Take it
wearily and you
are not playing.
Theatricality is
too syllabic to 
fail to count, 
and real plays
fail to count.
Logic, taken
to its conclusion,
destroys every
sweet thing. The
butterfly melts 
when boxed and
heated. Play cannot
touch the couth or
the truth; definite
articles cannot 
apply. Play away,
play toward, play
free from any pre
position. Play is
clay, formless until
it's touched.