Must
you always
be
so cryptic?
You
think of me
as
being deliberately mysterious?
Like
I can make words
plain
in a response
as
if docking a cargo ship
to
a space station
is
just sentence-by-sentence.
Do
you just want me to answer
from
your cognitively familiar menu
as
if this is the Denny’s
of
mindful convenience?
I
throw enigmatic eggs
at
your house of assumptions.
Some
fry, some hatch,
some
ask for coloration,
some
from extinction’s list
some
destined to break
if
not handled warmly.
Cryptic:
square peg
hurled
through round hole?
Are
you squarely round
or
roundly square?
Embrace
occurs either way.
Friction
is blessedness embraced.
The
heat comes from my warm heart.
My
head does not hurt any more
dancing
inside of my heart.
I
understand with watercolors
what
is etched in stone
yet
sinks through, well bleeds though.
Billboards
never tell the complete truth,
no
matter how fast or slow
we
drive by them.
Words
are moving with meaning
along
an inner melody highway.
I
can steer clearly, change gears,
but
the load shifts of meaningfulness
are
always possible . . .
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