I keep searching for it. That special line if you please.
One I won’t have to look for. Gentle but not out of sight
like an oyster without a bite.
A little saucy in the shell.
Word of butter might be better.
Rush to a clam and stick it out.
Twelve times twenty mocking birds
backed by teeth baked in a pie.
The problem with space, it’s always filling.
Science will call it waves or particles.
Forces angles, numbers. But never lust
without an object. But what makes lust just
too airy to a pinpoint.
Verbs run through nouns to the end.
No wonder thoughts from the beginning
are gestures round the bend.
Call it the word given.
Look up to the sun.
That was once the first god.
Then call it whatever you want.
Maybe it’s so basic
We feel it through and through.
No doubt about it.
Some things are bigger than you.
And some spread out and fly.
And others dig deeper than you.
Mimic them and become two:
the worm in the butterfly
But above all know it’s all over.
All over here and now.
Look up and down for the mover.
You are in all for all as one.
I suppose you wonder going.
Descartes put it this way:
Now since AI is improving
I won’t think but hit the hay.
That makes sense if you’re a demon
and you want to sleep through the day.
You make humans beyond reason
while the angels have to pay.
Don’t tell me words can find pattern
but I will, that’s sort of the game.
To beat the machine in logic
and numbers to the name.