the dark side talks back
to the deaf of me.
I feign listening
as if a proper response.
I have moral code,
can’t hear what your are saying.
paradox is only all of its cuteness
as amusing.
there is a landscape
of all tall buildings around.
they all cast long shadows
as the day passes.
I cling to my business
and directness of thought.
the dry skin of the day
wears on me.
I then shower with naiveté
with simple hopes in mind.
the dark side chatter is substantive
and embellishing as the silence all around.
I can only wear child-like for so long.
yes, this peeves me with insistence.
like I don’t want to ever grow up!
but age overtakes my indulgence
of smugness spread over living.
the dark side has one dimension
more than I can image as worth.
but I invested in belief
from the forefather-authors of fear.
I have loved
the way that fear taught me to.
now, all billboards have backsides
and images are just proposals.
why did I not look at the hands
of those holding the books
they read to my innocence?
how strange to be cast as childlike
and continue to do the posing.
language is such a hypocrite
and I, an audience for the taking.
no more of the front row,
no more the purchase
for self-satisfaction’s sake.
for now, I have mingle,
an opening for a mind
as if the dark side
honors the same sun
but speaks about it
in a different light . . .
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