We can’t tell anyone to know,
Don’t even know what knowing is,
Where it comes from, its genesis.
Things we know just come and go.
We can’t force anything to stay,
Especially anything we say.
Everything we know is “as though,”
A nothing become contingent,
Mindlessly intelligent.
There’s no bird smarter than a crow,
Or so it’s said by learned men,
Who can count from one to ten,
But find it hard to explain how
Crows never fly in a straight line.
As if seeking some strict design,
We fly from not wanting to know.
