i
i’ve always been confused about
intelligence... maybe because
it’s always seemed
something
beyond measure.
the mind grows
collectively, individually,
erotically;
the boundaries of self are
set at infinity & exploding
outward at the speed of
metaphor.
ii
drunken letters
are prone to
invention
anarchist words
escape the dictionary
& refuse to
return
non-euclidian numbers
defy
euclidian truth.
iii
when Mr. Benjamin, the glaze-
headed guidance counselor,
told me i did better than
expected on the PSAT, i
felt measured &
afraid.
iv
the work of every soul is
creation.
sometimes with the head
revolving around the heart,
sometimes the head at
the center
sometimes the belly, the
cunt, the almighty dollar, the
elegant obsession, the injured
child, the itching need, the
lust, the guilt
et cetera.
if there’s a definite solar
system of answers, there’s a
larger galaxy of questions &
many multiverses of silences,
darknesses &
light.
v
aquinas, at the end, thought it was
all straw, or maybe
a confetti of textbooks
blowing in the wind on a
rainy day.
vi
It is not my place to revoke your
license to proclaim truth from the
peak of sinai. only your sinai
may not be my sinai, & there’s
truth growing out of the valleys &
more
teeming under the
sea... &
all of it beyond the reach of
any possible meter stick, tape
measure or
thermometer.
vii
don’t distort your honest ignorance
with your
ego.
learn to love & respect what you’ll
never know or understand––
there’s more of
that, than you can ever
imagine.