No whirling nonsense of content extends
further than the interpretation of your
folding verses; no sure hermeneutics
or critical theory may apprehend your
mysteries; no confluence of different
media may illumine your labyrinthine
secrets, your confusing propositions
and delicate demonstrations; no verse,
no poem, no prose selection, no name,
no symbol, no calligram nor diagram
may guide us in a reading of you. I'm
doomed to failure in trying to decode
your infinite majesty, yet I continue
devising strategies and attempting it.
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