I investigated the unknown & found it was made up of unknowns.
It’s good to know that something so vast and possibly non-existent
.   .   .   is made of pieces of itself.
But as I get to know more does that mean the unknown shrinks?
I’ll never know much of what is known, the more I know
.   .   .   the less I know the better
So much is bad & I don’t want to know.
But the unknown, that’s a stumbler, that could include God
.   .   .   or pardon me, Gods.
Blasphemy, some say to think of more than one god, but then
.   .   .   it’s unknown so what do you know.
You can’t go defining my unknown, or putting limits on it:
my unknown is enormous, there’s lots of room there, lotsa..
In fact I’ll call it Lotsa. Hey you Lotsa are you always going to be there.
I guess by definition Lotsa you are Lotsa.
Perhaps I don’t even have to think about you, although you’re a convenient
.   .   .   dumping ground.
There’s lots in yah, Lotsa, and lotsa room for more, & more & more & more.
I think I’ll keep you around, in fact I have a helluva lot of faith in yah
yeah man. Lotsa luck. Lotsa everything. Lotsa comfort.
Lotsa lotsa.

     hear Lotsa read here

larry goodell / placitas, new mexico / from State of Disunion poems 2006-07

photograph is by lenore goodell . . . the banners I hang specifically for some poems


About larry goodell

Poet exploring his viable extensions - publisher, performer, playwright - hand to hand help in creating spaces for poetry to be live in - reading events, recordings, online and tangible publications in the vocal spirit of his New Mexico.
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