In my room ( a poem about modal logic)

In My Room...

In my room the world is true
Simply because I say it is true.
And truth is "spread out, like a patient,
Etherized upon a table..." In many rooms,
Rooms like mine...
And if you come to my room, one of the many
Parellel rooms that connect like the sections
of a dragon, one black and one golden,
Interwoven and locked into mortal combat...
And in which room with a couch,
A man writes in the air with his index finger,
And the heads of the two dragons peer into this room,
And that's when the shooting starts,
Below the window of the third floor,
In the streets below.
And in my room you appear without a summons,
and the many parts of the mind
Assemble themselves here,
And I touch your hair,
You turn and smile
In this room, a room that is so similar to,
and yet so different from all the other rooms,
Simply because you have entered,
And suddenly there is more than one mind contemplates the rose,
Not here, but where they do such things...
Here, the only thing real is
What you say is real,
And you ask, "Will there be an operation?"
And operations of varius kinds have been going on
In these rooms for years,
And the operator says, "Let the Tao move the scalpel"
And do not assert or proclaim the current coffee,
Nor any flags on ships that transport grain,
Because what one hungry world wants and one solitary room needs
is love, love for all the rooms in this similar class,
and rooms that will fill all the spaces of the universe
not already occupied by atoms...

pp 61 - 62  The Truth in Rented Rooms (Kaya, NY, NY, 1998)
copyright Koon Woon