ironic splendor

it is you that it's all about

told plain and clear,

the meaning behind every line i sing,

stories i snag

complaints i stake

i'm talking about you,

reading this, 

the birds sing your name as they escape your hand

it's a trick

they know you know

that you used to and always have,

so they repeat and repeat

cik-cik

in a language so familiar to your mind

so, so familiar

that you must act and pretend to forget

how you are scribbled in words

upon the flesh of this earth

your footsteps scribe this aggregating tattoo

i can see it, the black loops forming through and through

yes, 

i am talking about you,

the air wisps are gossiping in loving humor

ironic splendor

of your heart, my friend-

the one in your chest!

in fact, so do everything else

i mean, so does everyone else

huh?

the clock ticking, that chair screaming, these walls

crackling

crackling, crackling

the subliminal code for your name

that is what they are singing

that is what they are saying

it is your name-

not that among the many, 

but only yours.

"how can it only be me, when there are just so many?"

i know it doesn't make sense just now,

but nothing does not

you will remain the sole answer to this formula

and i do believe 

that is the only sound payment 

for a single nudge 

of your discomfort