Poems Conceal Theorems

He didn’t mean it nicely,
Bachelard. He meant, as flames
Can enchant and warp the mind,

Poems can be misleading, too,
Making smart people believe
They contain real theorems.

Well, we don’t. We’re not that smart.
Lurking in the very word,
Poetic, is the other

Word, fanciful. Deceitful,
Also, is implicit, but
Theorem is not. That word

Is supposed to cleave to truth,
Not fancy, although fancy
Theorems are sometimes wrong,

And poems are hounds for what’s wrong,
Baying and chasing wrongs down,
Then running back, tongues lolling,

Throats fluting, to their humans,
Poets disgusted with them
For rolling in theorems.