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This Problem of Certainty
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by Ward Kelley
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Simple wheel, simple ear, turning
onward, grinding always, never,
never, will it stop, the only thing
of which you can be certain. And certain
is for what we yearn, for we are such
precarious spokes who can never, never,
see clearly since we constantly roll and
roll. One would think a poet might solve this
problem of certainty, but poets can only twist
the words a little more poignantly since they
grasp the wheel so dangerously, never, never,
to release their twisted, bloodied knuckles. |
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