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, voice theater, open space for others, helping hands, sensual paradise here on earth reinvigorated by organic gardening, spirits of New Mexico dancing....
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