Precision’s Fog


For some,

words, mere paint,
plastic on the tongue,
primarily a disguise.

For others,

sound filler:
a means of transport from now to now.

For me, though,

words are molecules,
crossing the semi-permeable membranes of our souls.
Meaning seeps, and becomes us.

I think of
the first word.

The meaningful sound.

It’s utterance
landing
as a black hole.

The weight of understanding
Infinite.

Imploding,
all we thought we instinctively knew.

Plummeting,
as language creates a past.

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