We think
it'd be nice
to be
in the
thick of things
for once—
instead of
perpetually off
to one side,
always so estranged,
at the helpless edge
of contemplation.
It'd be great
to entreat
of an intellect fleet,
to look out and see
everywhere in space
for a second. But
this planet of ours—
crudely beautiful,
metaphorically
enormously
unapologetic—
hem us out cleverly,
haws the point constantly,
repeats its inventions,
dodges.
Whatever we get back
must be abstract.
Today rhymes with...
what? we ask,
and we're told
there will always be
many more questions
than there are
revelations.
