I lip sync to your eel-like words inching their way
To my soul;
Ones that I have tried to butterfly away from,
Ones that I have band-aid, anointed and oiled like
A medicine man, healing for a while…
At times I can raspberry them,
Rationalize them,
Bat them at you like a Home Run,
Divide them into my fault, your fault, or
I just take them in as guests.
But it is lip-syncing that I mock at,
Tasting, chewing on your cud because I know
Too well the bits, scraps and crumbs you toss…
Maybe I should tip you for teaching me so well
The sport of catching a fly fish
And tossing it back in the water.
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