What woefully foreign, irrational science is this?
There wasn't any method followed when
Ibn ʿArabī prophesied a map,
Or Borges sat designing another labyrinth.
Once I wrote a poem where all the parts
Just went together, where it made sense;
Or did I? This to that divided thought
Within a happy nonsense I had sung,
Or did I? I'm bound to repeat myself
In three discovered cycles like the tone
In Pran Nath's nondiscursive coughing warble.
A couple birds formed an hypothesis
In the leisure of a May updraft;
I woke and I wandered about a disorient land.
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