There is no theorem
just the combination
10,000 years of going with digressions:
I write regguetones, forget the variation.
There is no theorem
from the mist itself
the primates descend in search of phonemes
can create regguetones
and invite the system.
There is no theorem
with the mist itself
the songs the poems
sing themselves
everything I hear seems to be a slogan
to be or not to be, I think therefore I am
god loves you, and if the fish don’t bite?
Just paddle
all things in moderation and the moderation addles.
There is no theorem
the ocean mist itself
puts surf into the philosopheme:
syntagma of granite
conceive of your problem
as a single law stained infinite
that says what it says
and what it says, is flame.
© Omar Pérez. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2011 by Kristin Dykstra. All rights reserved.