Circle the wagons. Keep the lantern
under a shroud. Don’t say it outright.
Tell it slant. Or you’ll bring down the
brick house, 3 little piggies and all.
Smarts.
Waiting for Gödel to complete me: his
theorem revealing my incompleteness:
inclined as I am to demonstrate my own
consistency (see me, hear me, touch me,
feed me.—hob goblins of my brittle mind).
Do I contradict my self? I am large,
I contain pulchritude
Grace that comes crashing down like a
thunderbolt, cuts like a knife, dislocates
and disorientates, upsets my apple cart,
bad news before it is good news--thief
in the night, grace, BB Wolf knocking at
the door of my brick house--huffing,
puffing. Amazing grace. Wretch like me
wrestling with god non-stop: my will be
done vs thy will be none. No contest.
Contest. Agon.
Agony.
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