I Do Not Know the Secret

I Do Not Know The Secret..., Asper Art Of Writing Acclaimed Poem... Not purposeful intent, when tasking self (Das Scribe) a nondescript member of *****sapiens village people tribe metaphorical spear in hand ready to unbridal strong arm as vibe resoundingly resonates, sans (crackles, snaps, and pops) optimal instant to expunge bribe bing fountainhead of creativity oft times screed or futile diatribe no matter smug satisfaction appeased as mental delectation on par with eclair for taste buds, a reward dare, I acknowledge mine appealing talent (undoubtedly a slightly biased opinion) with fast break for game of Solitaire, or sink concentration matte tear real awaiting with bated breath comments, feedback, input...usually fair to middling acceptable, though frequent occasions blare ring liberal dollop of adulation, warms hearty cockles of this hermit comfortably numb in his lair which decency, humility, modesty... of mine to avoid trumpeting pomposity as if yours truly snooty billionaire keeps in check (ma mate) cognitive firmae tubby beware boot up pawn occasion, the errant knight within me finds ego expanding square lee out beyond outer limits of the twilight zone, where entire cerebral cranium shatters temple mount scare ring eureka temporarily finding me unaware, viz blinding, deafening, and obliterating brainstorm spate bare lee delivering tummy any appreciable, pronounceable, noticeable... impact relishing this devil may care state of being if only...threadbare tenuous consciousness endured sustaining oblivious blissfulness absentmindedness forever delivering cheer full countenance of mine finding me unafraid of Virginia Woolf, a bugbear, and/or he who dons most powerful paw he can render complex edifice of democracy to disappear thus...after shaking wordy playwear an early plug to vote November 2020 due to here about nine months and one year.