To think Thy 'I' could be typed by a key stroke crude
& with a donkey kick, the machine would draw blood
& with a donkey kick, the machine would draw blood
From a but foolscap mirror of Ibn Masud
Whose foot is heavier than Mount Uhud
Is to know, Kufa, the scandal of thy script
Fidelity's zallakah where Zuleikha slipped
No Joseph, her Joseph- No! not until
Father Jacob has looked his fill
As to Marsyas, would be, an Apollonian apology
Marsiya, too, is its own motivic cohomology
Of Category and Type, Writing so riven
Witnesses, alas!, break its but ribbon
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