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.
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