We're really moving through this now.
[LAUGHTER]
"The Truth"-- I remember asking myself,
when you call a poem "The Truth,"
you're asking for trouble.
[LAUGHTER]
"You can hide it like a signature."
I actually read this poem in my hometown of Rochester
at the U of R. And a professor in the law department
told me that he taught the poem in his class
and asked me if I could guess what the class was.
And I said, I don't know, misdemeanors?
What?
[LAUGHTER]
And he said it was an ethics class.
He taught the lawyers that he wanted them to think about--
I was-- what did I think about that?
I had no idea what to think about it.
It took about another year to figure out what he meant.
"The Truth"
"You can hide it like a gesture, like you
can hide it like a signature or a birthmark.
But it's always there in the greasy light of your dreams,
the knots your body makes at night,
the sad innuendos of your eyes, whispering insidious asides
in every room you cannot remain inside.
It's there in the unquiet ideas that drag and plead,
one lonely argument at a time.
And those who own a little are contrite and fearful
of those who own too much.
But owning none takes up your life.
It cannot be replaced with a house or car,
a husband or wife, but can be ignored, denied,
and betrayed until the last day, when you pass yourself
on the street and recognize the agreeable life you were afraid
to lead and turn away."