I THINK I
I was made of soil or mud. I was raised
from the stump of some oak. All of that
was once unmasked - and even made
some sense - but now I recall nothing
at all. I guess, at present, I'm supposed
to walk around like that : knowing little
and being certain of less. Not much
choice in this matter here; damn Earth.
Or damned Earthbound pedestal of
being. Stand-in-place movement
forever. Like a game, a very poor
game, of checker or chess, with a
blind man who claims to be cured
but still cannot see.