one tiny tomb

you got outfoxed
you never learned
how to lie like me

silent
becoming
stilling the sadness

thistle stuck throat
white pastures cut with barbed wire

teaching yourself not to be the wanderer,
the seeker

but slowly

gathering the fabric
slowly under the table
tasting it with your fingers
under that immutable oak
tempting it with a tease, the gentle pull, temptation of the never pulled-off party trick
but wouldn't the place look great
in flames

you knew what this stone was for.

encasing yourself
in hushed
and whispering wonders

to forge your tomb under the covers

well i'll tell you what you reckless despot

silence knows what speaking is for.