At night’s-end,
The knowers get to know the knowers.

—

At night,
The knowers meet.
Beneath the party’s feet.
Surfacing from soil,
Are never-written journal entries.
Confessions silently sworn
To be lovingly, and tactically,
Forgotten.

Until the next soiree.
When sparkly gowns
Will offer just enough refraction
So whatever comes out of our mouths
Will be buried in their distraction.

—

The knowers create so much commotion
You’d miss their suffering in all the glittery motion.

—

I pray for the knower to be known.
But there can only be knowers.
And the known.

Continue reading “Purpose”