Reflections from a picture guy

I will not tell you what I know

I will not say or prove or show

I will not deal in metaphors

For what I speak won‘t matter more

I still refuse your which-a-whys

I spill the beans, the tea, the lies

For when we must ellaborate

The meaning seldom happens late

And if it does upon the word

Then let its many wisdoms told

And watch along its many folds

The words are new, the bullshit old

And when he writes between the lines

He hides his eggs for needy spies

They web around so spiderlike

I will not speak I will not spite

Angry at these things I write

I hurt me most in ways I like

I push the pen inside my eye

Reflections from a picture guy