POEM FOR UMBERTO ECO

there are no conspiracies
beyond what the style
and form an age dictates
it’s narrow parameters
the box it
has to think it

but which, great master of signs,
long ago shook yourself free of

and now, who would
argue against me, dispute
with me rhetorically, in
the Classical manner, if
I were to say

there you are with the
Roman poets, the Greek
historians, the Medieval
scholastics
looking down

which, as Einstein postulated,
is also looking
backwards, looking
forwards in space and time
envisioning (from position
of Olympian vantage) how
it looks at this point
at that point

the great game, the universal
fiction we mere
mortals have
only seen the horizon of
a single square page of

and you now
(this perhaps the
one true conspiracy)
closing the circle
of hyperreality

before (perhaps)
impulse to travel

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