The one who knew everything gushed bloody prose
into my lap and laughed coughing up poisonous sputum.
But that was another day.
In this dimension this particular experience
sits a placid word warrior
lost in cascading letters which form into words
and the one who knows nothing is but a robotic
and comatose servant typing away in little driblets.
The one who knows nothing
finds himself in some kind of landfill
mountains and mountains of words
as far as the eye can see
stinking and rotting with the days and weeks and months and years
of constant and endless expression.
There is an itching need to pick them up
and organize them into a nice little piles
in order to say something or
not.
The one who knows nothing stares out at the expanse
and knows that his little piles will be consumed
by the ocean of other words
he knows that his little piles mean nothing
yet he keeps picking up certain letters
and makes them into new little piles.
He just can’t stop
it’s his addiction he must do this
the reason doesn’t matter
his little piles will fade away
only he can protect them
they give him solace and purpose
as he watches the ocean consume them
so he grabs more words with increasing feelings of panic
and lost causes lost minds.
The one who knows nothing sits down and has a little chuckle
and amid the garbage smells and rosy perfumes
he begins to eat them
and they satisfy him and sate him
and all is well.
The one who knows everything has lost sight of him…
just too many words.
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