6/28/14

On Knowing Nothing

The Slow as Molasses Press

I know nothing
of how anything works
I do not understand
motion
Motion is a mystery
What makes things go
is not on my
dance card
I do not know

I know nothing
of how anything is
Even of love by which
I live and breathe
It is a mystery



What all this says to me
is nothing but this
That I do not know
That knowledge itself
is a presumption
that should produce
skads of laughter
hidden for the sake
of being recondite

Being recondite
now that is something
that I know
It is the art
of getting by
when someone does not
know
and thinks he
does
Except that I
get by not knowing anything
at all

Evil is measured by relative degrees of harm.

Evil is measured by relative degrees of harm. To be delivered from evil  is to be  free from receiving or inflicting abuse.  Bully...