We're always glad to see each other
And eager to get caught up,
The foolish and their fools, in the latest
Dust from the road
Blown in by disputatious wind,
Wherein what one brings
Is passed around like runes atop a board
For the sparkling dice of eyes
Inquiring how it possibly is as strange
As one makes it sound;
Isn't that just the same, really,
As what was already said
And universally understood?
There is, despite it all,
Desire in the question, in the gestures,
But it is never
What is needed by the stranger
Seen from behind glass,
Believing in some common
Opening
Where each shares what they know,
Hoping to be wrong,
For only then will their understanding
Grow.
Another glass is filled, it is a game
Despite the stakes.
They'll let you be right, as long as you don't win
The argument.
The violence does not seem real
To those who always smile,
It only hangs in the air, as easy to clear
As opening a door.