Endless halving, argued Zeno, <br />won’t help us to reach the end. <br />Similarly, we can’t wend <br />our way to veritas with vino, <br />because whatever we opine <br />can only be half-true at best <br />when opinions we attest <br />unsoberly are based on wine. <br />However, when we stop to think, <br />the truths we find is rarely more <br />than half-truths, so let us ignore <br />what Zeno may have thought, and drink. <br /> <br />Inspired by a poem by Kay Ryan, in her collection “Flamingo Watching”: <br /> <br />This Life <br /> <br />It’s a pickle, this life. <br />Even shut down to a trickle <br />it carries every kind of particle <br />that causes strife on a grander scale: <br />to be miniature is to be swallowed <br />by a miniature whale. Zeno knew <br />the law that we know: no matter <br />how carefully diminished, a race <br />can only be half finished with success; <br />then comes the endless halving of the rest - <br />the ribbon’s stalled approach, the helpless <br />red-faced urgings of the coach. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />1/6/09<br /><br />gershon hepner<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/endless-drinking/
