Tolkien wrote a new language
to disappear into the middle of the earth.
How can I throw my hat and my ring
deep into the pits
where none can say:
this is good
this is evil
this is the one we've been waiting for.
St. Augustine decided, after a time,
to let himself walk into 
god's maw 
and grind up in 
His gizzard;
I don't have enough faith
in the process
to be digested 
in a stomach outside my mind.
Sartre was nauseous
and more afraid of crustaceans 
than committed to more than 
the meaning a self might write.
Today, I can't hear anyone think
any thought that isn't meant to be
the most important in history.

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