The limitless know nothing
Wrings hands, clasps them
Upward
Sun stretched now dark
The tide of word on paper
Everlasting
The pull of syllable and meter
The know nothing knows no grasp of it
The tale he contributes
Instant death to the literate
Instant death to the learned
Instant death to the intellect
Instant death to a triad of ironed-on metaphor
Kept folded in a used dresser
In a purse it travels on faith
The broken-in leather
Easy on the thin fingers
As he weeps
At the sound of his plane
Crashing over and over.
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