Words, Words, Words

The folks who are the best with words

Seem the most prone to use those words

To gripe how words will let you down.

You laugh. You swim through seas of words,

And you know you won’t meet the eyes

Of those who worked to write them down,

Not eye to eye, not face to face,

Not to shake hands or share bear hugs—

Too famed, too far, or else too dead.

What you read are words that blame words

For what the words can’t put in words.

There goes the curse—they were just words,

These words, all these words, are just words,

Made of words, words have all these rules,

These mere words, what words can touch that?

None. Fine. Words, words, words let you down.

You want the flesh? You want the truth?

They’re words. What aren’t, you can’t whine to.