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.