Poem: It bends like a sheet

I don’t judge you for having views,
It’s what people do by default we’d expect them to,

I kinda judge though if they’re too consistent
Too insistent too convicted they persist without contradiction
Unencumbered by the healthy helping of unhelpful fictions
Unshaken by the invasion of new information, Solidity consistently mistaken for wisdom,

See, If you were paying attention,
you should have the clear impression
nothings clear it’s less than that it’s endless questions,
Or you’d have mentioned having met the mighty penman
Even then she’s always changing endings loathe to start but less to end them

If you could live it another time,
Slightly removed from your previous line,
perspective swept just a step to the side,
You’d find that history more than merely rhymes:

It bends like a sheet,
and folds on the floor at her feet
creeps off of the edge of her fervent workspace she keeps
pulling the previous past back like drafts revising and flinging it back on the heap

Things that have happened are happening still they’re layered on top of me,
audibly, oddly, a blaring cacophony
strata of data, if you’re not clambering up than you’re lost beneath,
Stuck in the folds of an old layer awkwardly.

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