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,
enduring
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
indifference
to the fact.
*
Dear God,
where's the pizazz
in doing all this
math in your head:
derivatives
of ribs,
raised to the power of
sea and soil;
darkness
divided by light
(in parentheses)
times seven?
Unless
or until
you spread your lips
and hold forth,
all phenomena will wither
still deaf
to the truth,
and its magic
will be spoiled.
