Like knitting in the round
For eternity spinning circles
That orbit us like stars
In a universe we think
Revolves around us.
But what do they mean really?
These intangibly weaved webs
Give meaning to meaninglessness,
Beg us to forgive and forget,
Lies we’ve told and been told
Again and again become truths
..But only in our heads..
Words, words, words,
Grotesque procession drivers,
Making you think you think
You’ve got it all figured out,
How to know what it’s like to exist,
To describe and capture the key
That unlocks the universes within
And without hesitation, lift us up
To your sugar-plum salvation
Filled with words, words, words
Spun in forty-two spinning wheels
Up in the attic, above reality
But the truth is in math and knowing
Everything is improbable, everything
Is incalculably trumped by infinity
In small spaces like hearts,
With no room for words.