sehnsucht

well, epistemology's dead. dead and 

gone the way of god & romance,

dragons & chivalry & a million 

other things one can only seek 

pickled within the canvas sleeves 

and deadtree leaves of library novels.

sing a dirge, light the fire. a smoked 

& grey guessing game emerges 

from its funeral pyre. knowledge is 

falsehood and nothing is 

true(?) only paradox can stay, a place 

to trace some ideas in sand, and 

with deft fingerstroke, wipe 

it grainy-smooth again. or 

Belief is Guess' sister phoenix, 

reborn and purer of faith. O! 

I cannot really know, can I? 

questions beget questions 

and if Answer is cached with-

in the oxygen, human pupils

can't light upon it, and tongue can

not taste Certainty's benign spice. yet, 

I do not mean to breed insolence 

or even apathy, only mean to say--

I don't know. and neither do you. unless.

unless you do, which is a lovely thought, 

but implausible, untrue.