People often implore;
They want words to eat that make sense.
They seek this from a twisted man
Who is trying to understand
What words mean in his head
As they twine and whine and intertwine
To spit out what glib isn’t,
And the profound doesn’t have to make sense
When you eye them with a flippant furtive glance,
They would mean a thing, they would mean everything
When you learn to read him, how he reads them
With a deep pair of eyes invariably lodged inside his head.