what to think of the world anymore/is a serious question like a toothache/
or this sore throat/or the nagging love for someone who’s gone/I
don’t understand any better than the next person/they point to
me and say “poet” and nod their heads/at explanations that
I give them without numbers/no graphs, no statistics/poetry
is the science of one:/one person, one point, one opinion, one
truth/and if you ask me, of course I will answer/I am not nor
have a mouthpiece for any concept but me/my thoughts alone
are science/my dreams are mathematics/my rambling, philosophy
and rhetoric/my palms, hammers/my paper an anvil to forge
truth/my pen, the sword, dragonslayer/I am poet, hear me roar.
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