Needing to know beyond what knowledge,

needing not me,

lays down like rags before me

I feel again instead of see.

Having always seen, always supposedly known,

knowledge anew tells me I’ve not but been tethered

to a big brown ball lowing groans and smoking,

rounding the linelessness of what-might-be illumination,

sun gowned, maybe, real perhaps, or just mimicking

the word beyond the word where the word supposedly lay

at which destination I cannot see anyway so I don’t

instead deeming it right to feel only

watching not watching while the gazeless codes enrich me,

and feed my blindness something of something

at least to the point of wanting hence feeling.

so I smile at the absurdity of longing

to know the meaning of to know