Everything is circuitous,
coiled or coiling like a snake,
spiraling, spinning,
whirling in my mind.
Just when I think
I’ve figured it all out,
and have achieved enlightenment,
or gumption, or at least
some horse-sense,
doubt uncoils and spirals
and spins and whirls
in my mind, smartly announcing:
You don’t know squat!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem