What do you call this--crazy dancer.
What do you call this twist in the wind.
Who are you, snide turn-falls.
Who are you--
this moment, this place in the sands.

Tie me--without a rope.
Haul me--back from the dead.
Bind me--with words.
Your afflictions burn like polka-dots painted--
under this umbrella of stars.

What's this? You ask without wanting--
to know.
Nothing--
I tell you without daring--
to answer.

We dance through verses sidestepping to avoid collision.
Two thousand worlds apart.
Sitting beside each other--
on the floor.

Nobody knows what this means. I don't think. Nobody cares to find out. Would you? Don't strain yourself--honey. It will all be fine in the morning--she said. But now I want to know:
who is she?
Words twist like carnivorous ribbons fighting their way through the lives we design. Words cut through our frontiers--facades, if you prefer. They destroy our own notions of ourselves. In lieu of the truth. And then one must ask: but what is truth? Where does truth begin and so end the fable? Who does lie? Who does know the difference?
I'll tell you what I know, and what I know, I know to be right. That makes it the truth--
to me.
I'll tell you that nobody tells the truth, as it is. And nobody lies, if they might get caught. We all tame our words to do our own bidding and tell others the things that we wish them to know. And tell others not of the things we wish to keep to ourselves. Such is human nature. And such will human nature continue to be until the end of time. Or beyond.
Everybody. Yes everybody, does it. And everybody, yes everybody, knows it. And nobody, not anybody, will admit to it. Because an accusation is so final and devastating that if we admit to its truth, then we have nothing left to protect ourselves from the sanctimonious hypocrisy that envelops the pathway of life.

P.S--STOP FUCKING UP MY PLANET!