(poem) Truth/Untruth

Truth/Untruth
To Baudelaire and Charles Forte

At high altitudes locusts freeze,
Drop from the sky,
Thousands.
Hard to believe
But so am I.


The lazy man does not roast his game;
Catches it, eats it raw.
Style is character is
Not important after all.


The diligent man prizes his possessions:
His gilded tortoise shell,
His locusts,
His jaunts nowhere,
Twirling the ends of his moustache.


It is not hard to believe:
We find nothing final because
There is nothing final to find.