N/A
the poem bears the taste
of the sweet bittersweet
the irony tagged like a kite.
and the way that the words
would not mean a thing
to someone or something
who'd never heard of a word,
never heard a word.
like the lonelist whale,
who sings at high Hertz
and not one other whale has yet heard her.
but if words carve a path
from primal to late
brain matter to the very
tips of my fingers;
the sweet bittersweet
is right there for me.
i must like words now,
for i'm bound within them.
and i'll think of something pretty.