The speaker keeps announcing that he's about to deliver something solid: a secret, the truth, facts, something you could swear to or prove. Each time, what follows is just a body movement. He nods, stretches, shrugs, crosses his legs. The grand claims never connect to anything real, so the poem quietly mocks how people sound authoritative without actually saying anything. Even the lines about "he says is so" and "he says he read in a book" hint at how we lean on secondhand authority.
Near the end, the pattern shifts. The promises drop away, and the speaker simply narrates actions: walking, building, removing, putting in place, taking. The unnamed "it" and the phrases "like this" and "that way" sound like a demonstration, as if he's showing rather than telling. The mood is deadpan, a little unsettling, and oddly intimate. The final "taking" feels slightly threatening, as though the performance has turned into something more demanding of us.