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

Cleverness-conviction.

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?