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