the grand tilt

words
fly back and forth
can anyone catch them?
decipher them?
embrace them?
what means one thing to another
means volumes to the next
or nothing to a passer-by
will ever the twixt meet?
but you see, it's really just air
being pushed back and forth

come
come away with meaning
run
run far with intent
I won't catch you
I don't have a clue why we're all here

I'm still bedazzled by the verbiage
so eloquent
so heart-felt
so full of rotting shit

arrows of reason gone off the mark
was your goal to ensnare me?
I watch the mental barrage
confused
distracted
open hearted
....destroyed
this bull's eye is painted blue....
for resignation

and the purpose of those words?
did I even rub near?
or was I too busy chasing after
flowery and nether
phrases of profundity,
too close to the universe's rim
to notice I had left behind
no markers for retreat?

the faire has come to town
and befuddlement sets in
when the jugglers do their grand tilts
but please,
don't bother your little head over spilt intent

why don't i feel anything?
is this numbness?
or is this just the lot of those
washed up on the shores
of holocastic fits of awareness?