I Know Nothing of Something

Trying to discern myself

in the midst of such-and-such,

in the haze of anonymity,

to define this life

as more than just a bundle of rhymes

disguising a ramble.

But we've an affinity for the pretty:

the silk sheet

thrown over the shambles.

And it was this preference

that vandalized my desire

to place the message before the words.

Now I write absurd,

trying to keep your attention

for long enough to be heard throughout.

But never is my voice

strong enough to will you into submission

like before.

I think I lost something precious

in the years' transition.

A vision once voluptuously surreal

has been flattened plain

by my apathetic heel

and shoveled aside...

I know nothing of Something


except the shadow it casts on the carpet

after I walked outside

and closed the door.

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