Tuesday, August 3, 2021


It's true that
we're not willing 
to try very hard 

to see things as they really are,

devoid of their color, 
smell, taste, and texture—
that is, 

as pure numbers 
and positions—without us.

Yet, how rigorous—

how hard 
and how long we 
are willing to practice

to perfect 
the ridiculous 

art of our own 
to the fact.


Dear God, 
where's the pizazz 

in doing all this 
math in your head:

of ribs, 

raised to the power of 
sea and soil;

divided by light 

(in parentheses) 
times seven?

or until

you spread your lips 
and hold forth,

all phenomena will wither 
still deaf
to the truth,

and its magic 
will be spoiled.