for Rene’ Descartes

Did you hear the muse singing in that box;
It wasn’t Queen Christina
calling you to come, break the paper locks,
shed those chains of ink from your bones and skin.

Was it warm like a womb through the winter;
Always forced to rise and teach before dawn,
where you can barely touch the real answer
that would haunt your students after you’d gone.

How to make your Duality single;
just throw off the yolk of authority,
buy nothing you aren’t willing to sell
and know no distance is to far to see.

You don’t have to give everything a name
to leave X for the next point on the plane.

Some Other Kind Of Index