what-i-don’t-know
used to bother me
used to gnaw at my
raw thoughts and
draw me to your libraries
where i would scroll
angrily through lists
of facts and narratives
constructing questions
faster than answers could
sate my vexations

but anymore, what-i-know
sustains me like a roll
of rye bread that yeasts
in the belly faster than
my acids can dismantle it

and i let the mysteries
tap at my window like
gentle iceflakes, their
little mathematics melting
against the warm glass
into mundane water
droplets, which are no
mystery to me