The pea in the museum

maybe this wasn’t all about me
after all there were other things we knew
knowing might eventually encapsulate
everything divorced brutally from being

yet evidence was being tabled even now
our dalliance was but a brief experiment
unusually calm in the writhing depths
realised too soon to proffer proper effects
satisfaction was ever more illusory
endings that sounded imperfect cadences
lilting lonely tones lying fast
fit for kings and merrier souls searching

useless letters scrumphed in stolen moments
nearly told in passing taciturn chapters
completely directed by arrowheads mounted
on second-hand second thoughts and happen-stance
meaning other things we knew knowing meant
fortunately nothing about me on the record
only ill-defined pages copied too many times
regarding the older things
those forgotten how to be things
after all unusually calm on the outside
breathing rhythms that sounded imperfect
lines to be cleared unuttered announcing
everything looked up and I was no longer fun

//ends