… Tell me.

By J. K. McDowell

February 2014

 

Tell me, are you transparent or invisible?

Do you prefer being exposed or hidden?

Is this silence a question or the answer?

 

Don’t tell me about the uneasiness that wakes

You at half past midnight.  Now, even this fruitless

Fatigue cannot move us toward the rest we need.

 

I can’t tell if the storm is adding to the

Turmoil I feel.  Rain and wind beaten souls are silent.

I am waiting for the truth to be exposed.

 

Please tell me, what fire drives your sacred reduction?

A thickening sweetness – a savoring, not meant

For strangers.  I don’t want to taste, I want the fuel.

 

No, they can’t tell, tragedy or comedy?

We are all too much of mostly the wrong things.

Inauthentic and fabricated, often well written.

 

Tell me James K., these poems, are they sketches

Of the soul – shadows, signposts, silhouettes?

Do I have to ask this again and again?  Tell me.

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