HEARSAY AND CONJECTURE

In a coming of age tale 

of the future, I wonder

whose fitful dream 

could have conjured 

this reality? 

So I blunder toward words 

until they rip themselves 

to shreds, 

until my thoughts

climb up trees 

to be crucified 

willingly; 

and I keep my ear pressed 

against the cold ground 

of indifference—

is it the sound 

of rapture 

or repugnance?—

I think: 

any ignorance

this profound 

must be on the brink 

of revelation.