the end of all questions

today you can scratch at truth, and it will. wither. fragment at touch - with all your friends telling. tales. too stretched to be any good, then the movements begin, the swaying, the hips going about like a drunk too wide away and at the same time; washed with better cosmetics, the last one stung. it really hit the sciatica. this one is a lot more odd, not curve, just heavily bent to listen to only the wailing wall whose ears have decided to be long gone. and there is no more longing for that sweaty palm, it is still trying to claw out of that hole. you know, the long deep recess it never reaches the bottom does it? just a slow fall, where the stupor begins to glaze over, some say the first year law student shouldn't get so very neurotic, law can do that to you. it spins lovely tales for adults, fascinated by the next news out there. they can't all be fake! cried the politician, and it was difficult to know why all the reporters no longer cared to wail to the well whose echo no longer comes back. it was just another longer version of the first twisted truth. and the odd ball of a moon still hanging about, not a third wheel. but no one is complaining. and the black sky seems devoid of understanding, it is all good you know. the silver lining still sits. it sits on those misty best dream that like to come up only when the night is really dark. and this time the moon has vanished, gone to play with other planets and it seems that the many sayings of the wise have fallen on dead ears. the ones that could really prick, it's just another lame duck wishing it was not sitting on the wall. that's how it is, just you, me sitting on the wall, and whose height is so very tall - i realize now that the silver has gone all around, twisted both of us together so we will not fall off. i guess that is a good thing. just me and you and a wall of no apparent purpose.