The Poet Of Ignorance

Perhaps the earth is floating, I do not know. Perhaps the stars are little paper cutups made by some giant scissors, I do not know. Perhaps the moon is a frozen tear, I do not know. Perhaps God is only a deep voice heard by the deaf, I do not know. Perhaps I am no one. True, I have a body and I cannot escape from it. I would like to fly out of my head, but that is out of the question. It is written on the tablet of destiny that I am stuck here in this human form. That being the case I would like to call attention to my problem. There is an animal inside me, clutiching fast to my heart, a huge carb. The doctors of Boston have thrown up their hands. They have tried scalpels, needles, poison gasses adn the like. The crab remains. It is a great weight. I try to forget it, go about my business, cook the broccoli, open the shut books, brush my teeth and tie my shoes. I have tried prayer but as I pray the crab grips harder and the pain enlarges. I had a dream once, perhaps it was a dream, that the crab was my ignorance of God. But who am I to believe in dreams? Anonymous submission.