A Poem, With Regards.

"So...let's rewind here," you'd say, surely. Because this is something no one can comprehend. Something beyond all mortal words, reasoning, logic, and thought trains (They could never leave Chicago going westbound at 10 AM fast enough).

Me being me, I'll gladly agree.

Because I love fabrication ever so much. I love how you have to fake your grasp of the story, because I know your subconscious is screaming out to you:

"I get it already! Don't make him talk more! It's befouled my brains and scrambled my eyes, like so many eggs before them."

But you ask again "Who? What? Why? When? What? WHY?" ever questioning, ever prodding, ever breaking down the simple glory of that which is a venture into the vales of intrigue. Something that is meant nothing more than to entertain, must be shredded to tatters in your very sight.

Don't think. Don't feel. Don't Get. Just analyze. Break down to the components, because once you have that, you've got a whole lot of little things. Little things that are meant to be stepped on, pressed to dust, then ions, then atoms. Particles of what once was, be it strange, outlandish, or ludicrous, something original.

Let's listen again and again, until the mouth turns blue and falls off. 'Tis not for our benefit, but his. Creatures capable of creation, shouldn't. Especially, if it was woven with love.

Love which can't be, now or then or any time henceforth.

Because that what holds it, is likely cracked. A funnel. And it'll take more than duct tape to fix it.

"Rewind?" I'd say, "Sure, sure... But the tape only goes so far back, if you can understand that..."

"I can't. Sorry."

"... Ah... Shame..."