it’s not that i don’t know what to say half the time,
it’s just that i’m unwilling
to sully my good thoughts
with the ugliness of language
and have whatever i say be (mis)interpreted
by some linguist with a background in
fudging up the definition of words,
or something like that
pliable fake teeth waiting to say something
in the back of your throat,
but caught on an awkward breath
while trying to catch up to your legs
that just went on a five mile run,
first thing in the morning,
while the rest of your body was resting,
like some sort of lazy duckling sleeping in
don’t tell me when you start
to figure this all out,
i still want to be surprised,
so maybe,
if you could,
don’t even show it on your face,
and once we both know,
then maybe it can be that silent secret kept
in the whispers of the dandelions
figuring out the wild world isn’t quite what
the brochures made it out to be
Fred Aiken Writing 