Fairy..Tell

A story cut in ice, isn't the one best to hear
But it carries a lot of weight,
a lot indeed.

If you consider the motions frozen inside
..As vague as the appraisal talks
pointless as a moist cloth
Trucks of crap beneath
a routine sun

Some spices too..
bifocal sincerity
dollops of work hurled inside
words inside
this that
brick bat
lives flow
tic-tac-toe
Carrying sad gutters in their stride.


Then they grow old...
the gutters
grow old
become chasms
the chasms
grow old
become seas
Seas as grey as fungus within diamond eyes.

A story cut in soil isn't best to hear
Sorry
if it's stale
because its a tale
that every dead man whispers below the earth
to fill up his oceans.


A story cut in fire isn't that nice to hear too
for it burns our peace
revealing the wretched destiny
we hid behind the blanket
and sprayed over some lingering smile
to shy the smell away.


Then what's good to hear?
Who knows?
and
who cares?

Perhaps something
that tugs our past
rides our present
blends our tommorow.

For is it not
the best story of all to hear is that....
which we already know
from out and inside.