Knowledge, I encourage you all to chuck it
since after all in the air it is better served.
Just as the ball endures the net’s caress
uncomprehendingly, and the sneaker to the floor
is a living hieroglyph, and the pompom
accomplishes nothing alone, and twelve minutes
is anywhere from twenty to an hour,
I too have no idea what I’m saying.
But now the moon steps sadly, abstractedly
up to wherefrom it’s watched a few seasons,
and nothing lovely escapes its seeming indifference.
The timekeeper’s light touch, the indignation
of the official. Asleep or awake, beyond
our understanding, the clock keeps running or stops.