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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The Poet Of Ignorance