This
illusory fleck
You might be given a choice one day – art or truth.
Surely, you’ll drop the attachment then
to language, inspiration, conceptual thinking;
take a bite out of that red bright, indisputable apple,
a mouth too full to speak.
Or in shrieks of laughter,
ankle-deep wade the mountain stream.
Like a holy roller on the pinewood floor,
bewilderment and incoherence your worship,
your life’s duty – not from any ecstasy
but from piety, sobriety and humility.
Wave from the flowing bridge; engage
in the marvelous activity of doing nothing
to understand and change this illusory fleck
you, as a person of words, have tenaciously explored
and so patently, obsessively, for yourself
and others, attempted to navigate and explain.
O child of God, if you are ever given the chance –
drop the words; kneel in awestruck silence.
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