The ineffable and haunting sublimated
spirituality of words, the misty frisson
of elusive books, that ancient city
hidden by vines, excites almost all
of the intellectual teenagers in Kansas.
Their eager, tattooed, mystic teacher
bequeaths the class a blackboard
of hazy erasures no one can read,
except the cabbalist, who reads
in the dark. A revelation betrays its own
functional mystery. As the other
others others othering
others, the abyss abysses
its abyssness the next afternoon
in a taxi. Each absolute doubt,
doubting itself, accepts
that rebuttal. Spinoza sent Descartes
a letter whose paper itself refuted
an airy cogito. The postal service
connects one fact to another
like two people in bed who share
a dream. I mean, the faux
center of a semiosis, like a state
employee, refuses to answer
the phone only when it rings.