Polly’s Cadence (In Dada Flat)
“Polly wants a cracker!”
A call is made.
You wait for a response.
I comply in earnest.
Behind the wool, you gloat blindly.
Knowing enough words to nod along, I do so … knowingly knowing I know nothing.
Point Counterpoint. A methodological approach to string theory resolves to the root of us all. Klimakatastrophe … deservingly so
You want dogma, a rationale of semiotic obedience.
A feathered response is in order:
There are no more prayers, only the chanting of reverberating sounds in the wild; the vibrations that ricochet off your sensitivities … forcing you to move.
You want belief, perhaps in distended words unspoken.
Yet, I have only the faith of habit found in sustained accidentals and enharmonic phonemes … and wings to sing of.
And oh how I’ll sing one day, despite your efforts to make me talk.
Loitering Words 