Poems

Zeteticism

8 February 2014

9:00 AM

8 February 2014

9:00 AM

Whatever savants say,
the world is flat, not round;
the ships that crowd the bay
are for its limit bound.

Their cargoes likewise, all
consigned to one address,
at the world’s waterfall
plunge into nothingness.

The brightwork, the white sails
unfurled against the sky,
the million knots and nails
for such a voyage, why?

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