but what if i don’t want you to know everything?
it’s not my job for you to know the difference between and a kiss and a concubine. a truth and a lie. the coordinates of a courtship yielding the returns of dangerous layers or a selection of fireworks made by man.
that’s not my job.
besides, what fun is there in knowing?
what kind of scenery would it be if we saw the cracks in the lines of our heroes? begging for time or wading in the water. feet slow against the current, incapable of removing their hands from their pockets — isolated ideas floating away like motherless feathers. lousy rivers eradicating the rhythms of known before/s, so that we bear witness to the mirrors of ourselves, biased eyes grappling for breath and pining. the rolling of rocks to the banks, damned.
i want to see what isn’t there. the flight of a mindless mercenary, unhinged. blanketing the realms with boundless omniscience; immeasurable weight crossing paths with gods. faith in their defiant steps. eternal calculations. tsunami logic.
i want to close my eyes and believe. not k[no]w.
i just don’t want to see me.