The Poet Of Ignorance

 Perhaps the earth is floating,
I do not know.

Perhaps the stars are little paper cutups
made by some giant scissors,
I do not know.

Perhaps the moon is a frozen tear,
I do not know.

Perhaps God is only a deep voice
heard by the deaf,
I do not know.


Perhaps I am no one.

True, I have a body
and I cannot escape from it.

I would like to fly out of my head,
but that is out of the question.

It is written on the tablet of destiny
that I am stuck here in this human form.

That being the case
I would like to call attention to my problem.


There is an animal inside me,
clutiching fast to my heart,
a huge carb.

The doctors of Boston
have thrown up their hands.

They have tried scalpels,
needles, poison gasses adn the like.

The crab remains.

It is a great weight.

I try to forget it, go about my business,
cook the broccoli, open the shut books,
brush my teeth and tie my shoes.

I have tried prayer
but as I pray the crab grips harder
and the pain enlarges.


I had a dream once, 
perhaps it was a dream,
that the crab was my ignorance of God.

But who am I to believe in dreams?

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