Posts Tagged ‘Mystery’

Puzzles, according to Malcolm Gladwell, can be solved.

Uncertainty can be combatted with knowledge. The

Zest for certainty can lead to the

Zenith– wala! Gather more intelligence.

Let the answer arrive through hard work.

Every question has an answer, right?


Maybe not. Mysteries remain murky, and uncertain.

You work and work and may not get close to an answer.

Suppose you have too much information? In

This case, you have to sift through it all,

Ear to the ground, looking for the right clue. The

Right piece of information. Which one is it?

You may never know the answer.

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The Mystery Poem

He found the body here, and then

Here. Of course there was blood

And the usual motives: sex, money.

The body was good, roughed up, dead

in the usual ways. It was a bullet,

And then the cold.

The detective likes a whiskey, neat,

And he likes blondes. Who can blame

him? The blondes never ask questions

Or deduce shame from the gesture

Of his worn knuckles in his pushed

Back hair. His skin would be worn,

Like the cover of a book, unopened

And hollow. Inside, he hides a flask.

Clues snowflake around him, each

unique, each valuable, each dissolving

and leading, ultimately, nowhere.

Nowhere is where he wants to be,

Nowhere is where he is. He lives

Nowhere, with its narrow bed and

Woolen blanket that itches and won’t warm.

He lusts, not for solutions, but for

pursuit, knowing who and the murderer

knowing he’s being pursued, but running

anyway, as if escape is only a few pages away,

inevitable as a car wreck or a hangover.

No. The pursuit’s the thing, not endless,

though we wish it were, but fated as Oedipus,

the crime written before the criminal breathed,

he never had a chance, nor did we, or the dark

eyed detective, who dons his hat as if it were a crown.

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