I get sick inside
of being meaningful
the words are like stones
sinking in topic pools
away from the splash
of their spokenness
dead weight into memory
like a gravity
pulling them down
to the synopsis bottom
of what was previously said
at another moment in time
yet now
removed from the surface
of its play
remembered in an environment
unlike its origin
no holographic video
to redeem the preciousness
simple un-embellishment
assigned any redelivery
he said what she said
that he said she said . . .
okay well
what was the heart
of the matter?
what was the heat
of the moment in the matter
well what was the intent
behind the matter
and what was the motive of it
mattering
like I said
I get sick inside
the apparel of meaning
sure I wear the getup
from the inside out
whatever the splash
it comes up later
looking like stains
and nothing ever dries the same
as it was originally
when it mattered
ever so delightfully so
before it became
memory retained
and that meaning fill!
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