A Trappist monk told me, with his eyes -
Disguise what you know in an image of the eyes
Of a walking - talking human corpse,
Or of flowers, pretty, of differing sorts.
People will spend hours,
Literally hours, to unravel the conceit; to invent
Some nefarious connection that'll let
Them smile at their deep - down
We know it's a Fiction designed to improve
The Diction of a passing reader or two here,
Stuck here, in the human zoo. Flummoxed
By all the malarkey of a statement
Turned into a question? By antipodean
Due diligence? Or stick with the continuing silence?