The numbing of the prose.
The words soften the doom on the occasion,
Don’t they?
The memories are often wonderful and terrible
Within the twitch?
There aren’t any REAL questions worth asking,
Are there?
No matter or grievance or pretence or possibility
Is worth as much as…
WHAT?
WHERE?
WHY?
WHO?
WHICH?
HOW?
WHEN?
The when is how,
The why is who,
The ‘is’ is where,
The what is ‘how’ing
The which is what,
The who is why,
The how is THAT
The what is ‘witching’ (whiching)
The when is THEN
The how is HOW
The why is SO
The where is THERE
The game is on
The rhyme is tied
The moment has gone
But don’t fear…
The thickening will come upon you
No abstraction here,
No questions to hide behind,
No answers that hinder fear…
Whoops, such a shame –
Such eloquent thoughts,
And yet the rhyme ruins the reason.