September 2, 2010

re: txt poem

The true got caught out in a lie
of perfection If there be a god
it cannot know of us Nor us in any
image makes All falls pell to mell

Gone the good weight of eyes on our
backs And gone the stable turning
of the great wheel within a greater wheel
Eram quod es Eris quod sum

It might better be known as
a great Disinquisition instead What
just might mean of fulsome time
is irrelevant O he hope we hope I hope

New profundities demand the negligible
Tucked deeper and most ineffectually
away the center of the universe
leaves this Wakes as proof

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