Contemplating Socrates

I felt I had not learned, and knew nothing Of the analysis of a flower The more I read the darker became my cave When the boulder of your name Was rolled like Sisyphusian task upon me What did he not know Who said so many things before Christ came I set out like a river Tumbling down an impolite hillside Looking under the dress of stones And caressing the dirty feet of bridges Some who sped ahead of me Came back bruised and salted by the sea Yet I was determined Because of your Alexandrian beginning To let you know How unwell I fit with crowds Making status statements With nuances of the dead classic And all in vain All in vain It was not the donut that he liked It was the hole The empty center we pay for With dead days