Open Letter, Returning a Questionnaire
blandish me not with the charisma
Of codex cards. I, a particular
One, a reveller irreducible in my
Republic of being, am sworn to resist
The unecstasy of the self's swift immolation
In your cold clasp of quantification.
Your multiple unchoice is irredeemable.
In none does any of my individual
Voices echo. To questions I wouldn't ever ask
You mouth me answers I'd give not a syllable
Of acquiescence to. You come unbidden,
Passing beyond my identification number,
Age, sex, place of birth, to planted
Demands whose half-facts sprout five opinions
Only, excluding multiple truths. But opinions
Of half-facts are not the facts of opinions.
In the sleek city of your laws, where averages
Support constructions buttressed by totaled figures
I never come but in my ragged pocket
Carry a plot to silence the banquet speaker
And blast the foundation your fabrication stands on.
No use to hide
In a blockhouse of filed statistics--there's no protection
In that steel box, excogitating card on card--
Well, I'm off again to my own land, scot-free,
Confiding my truths to the wind, but still on guard.