I hold all truths to be self-evident.
I need not think further. I turn
in a stream of concrete
and polaroids encased in superglue.
What is the meaning of thirteen
blackbirds? To peel
the wings off? To pluck
To tear the beak off?
To rip out the ribs and find some pearl hidden in still-hot entrails?
Will a jewel give this meat
Will will will words worthy winnings?
The meaning is that it is.
The misconception is that all things are here for you. Not everything is made for you to consume without thought or work. Not every smattering of words is made for you to cut up and find A Meaning. Some things are here as nebulous and relational. You get out what you put in, filling the mortar between the rough stones to complete the wall. Don’t be so stupid as to suggest that something is bad because you aren’t spoonfed an easy story.