The psyche is founded on a bedrock
of male and female elements
folded within even the most boorish ego.
And the search for the perfect mate
is really the search for the complementing
“other” that resides inside,
within one’s evolving soul.
So to furiously propel oneself
through the world in quest of love
is like Fred Flintstone taking off
in his stone-wheeled car after Ann Margrock
his feet spinning in a blur,
making that takata-takata sound,
while the clumsy vehicle is getting nowhere,
when all the time he could be right at home,
happy on his bed of rock, with Wilma.
