Cry Saint and the world will shrug
Like a nursery rhyme that children don't listen to
Because they already know it is true. Truth is boring and tiresome,
We want the unthinkable, a shock you never saw coming
Cracking like a blue moon
To the Buddha-ghost-mind an unthinkable there is
Of mushrooms, there is one of which the holy books speak
A Saint who can consume them without death, only indigestion, but,
(I am serious... or they are, and I try to be... for them...
text me for the book title and page number),
This part about mushrooms is solidly in the Buddhist Theravada canon, but...
As if this weren't laborious enough I want to ask about seriousness, in all seriousness,

How can I not laugh about this murderer Pythagoras 
Who also taught everyone in his cult not to eat beans?
Pythagoras who drowned his student to cover up a math proof
that "not everything is number"?

Archimedes, the archmage who used the law of parabolas to burn down ships at a great distance, enemies of his king. The higher law... was it the parabolas or the burning ships?
I am on a burning ship and it is not funny. Parabolas are a silly I-told-you-so entertainment in comparison.

We want truth, we want to believe the ball gets picked up again and again, rising higher and higher,
But the ball drops over and over. 
Now we drop it again, staring into a parabolic mirror.
Progress is a dream and it is only sad because it is a dream.
Otherwise it just wouldn't be at all.

Don't the lessons of Mother Goose teach anything
About surfing solar waves
Or what of clouds is unthinkable?