Thursday, October 28, 2010

1157. AVERROES

AVERROES
I found Averroes with his abacus
slopping up the floor - using his
perpetual rags to clean up his mess.
It was so very simple : migrant
headaches and Iberian disputations.
People nodded as we passed. He'd just
put everything back, saying he had
reason for this and reason for that.
None of which I believed at all. Like
anyone else on this ripped-torn planet,
he was wandering without guide
and lying to boot. I laid my head
down and cried.

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