Honne
I live in this half-world
doubting the veracity of
words
words of supposed comfort
scraps of care
of whitewashed expression
do you seek to protect me
or to beguile,
draw me into your place
of uncertainty
of quantum thoughts,
shut me in your Schrödinger’s box
until I cannot tell
what you feel
what you say
I want conviction
Newtonian conversation
of truth and certitude,
not to peer through
telescoped eyes
searching for Polaris
in your inumbrated sky
Give me the truth
clear as a winter night,
sure as gravity,
scrubbed of peeling paint
bury your deceptive solutions
and solve honest equations
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