Knowledge is prickly, and gets under your underside.
And wisdom is an unwelcome fruit you’d rather be watching from a distance.
And nothing is short of commendable and hate-worthy.
And everything contains juice, which you can drink.
And knowledge is prickly, and goes right inside, flying.
It flies like an arrow.
Knowledge pierces, pierces. Getting in the way of knowledge, is
And oozes of notions, of super-shiny things, are unwelcome.
Please, do not bother me.
Just give me a place to sit in the corner, a place.
Wandering all over the surface, squirming
With people, I’m done with it.
Just give me peace.
They cannot do without me, they even need me for some things.
But I don’t see how it is possible to satiate the need I have.
Just give me a cool breeze, and all those strange little things,
That appear in paintings, and that appear in music.
Just give me a cool breeze.
Please. I beg. I plead.