Fancier

Infinity is finitely
Manipulable, connoisseur—

Even for cold-quoters of books
That snap off the blocks crisp as quips,

Flaunting their identity shocks.
Infinity is one of those

Names for a concept it can’t touch,
Definition by description

The closest to naked crypsis
It gets—one of those words undressed

Like an Enlightenment royal
By a team of attendant words

Themselves more simply dressed. Finite
Meanings attend infinity,

Camper, humbler, finding one speck
Of a maqta metastasized,

Spotting the naked frailty
Of the tiny concept inside

All your poetic furbelows,
Our repetition of rough moles

On the small body of your sign
No more than any other name.