“The Weight of the Untold” (Pradip)
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6:55am:  Jan 2 nine twenty twenty five

(read the comments first)

enveloped by the early mix
of morning’s hangover of dark
blue gray, window glints of a
sun playing peekaboo over the
yet there (!) Manhattan skyline,
the utter  “ness” of the stilled,
unwritten, unstirred, uncolored
dim of medium shadowy light,
the quietude is an actual thing,
a warming coverlet of cozy peace

am I not forcibly compelled to
write of the weight of white spaces,
Pradip pokes my curious anxiety,
as I question my own words, that
he tosses back to me, so so oft
he ****** the cells of my fingertips
to peek, to bleed, then peck letters
from within, to comprehend my
museum artifacts of words,
the weight of their panoply
of mystery

How, how can the white weight of
our seemingly empty spaces tween
words, carry this burden on its,
bony shoulders, can’t we just let them
be, like the breaths exhaled, the
disappearing exhaust of being human,

is it necessary to carry knowing knowledge,
of what needs no body, isn’t the inexplicable
better left unimagined, there be so much tolling troubles, let them be left masked, they’ll appear as embodied black letters, of-when, their discord is accorded their moment of due…no  more need to succumb prematurely
to this onerous lighter than air pressurized crushing atmosphere of reused oxygen

did I awake just to prove my existence, to offer up this combination of vocabulary of wondering, one more explication of the unknowns that are visible to the naked eyes, big, hard, factuals better left alone…and suddenly the morning light has arrived,

dear god,it will be a sun-filled sky,
and that weight, is modestly eased,
never fully erased, but you know,
I know, most of its occupants
even those
who won’t show their faces

And perhaps they should remain
hidden in the white spaces
between the letters and the words,

u.  n.  t.  o.  l.  d.

The riddle wrapped itself in cloaks of wit and crowns of understanding

The parable parallels the fables with skins and lofty feathers

The riddle was obscured
Left lacking in explanation

Meanwhile the parable remained hidden
Left for future days

The implications of gratitude are like the hot dusty desert winds
leaching out the moisture
dessicates within

Then when the roots run rock shallow the fortification begins

Their indications of agreements entered into
are but less than followed through

Meanwhile the mountains of probability will be forested thick in their nakedness of shame and agit with the flux of futility

Then the riddle will be left perplexed , lacking insight it will not be able to see the forest for the trees

The heat from the furnace
cannot replace
the warmth
of you

and I'm freezing
in your absence.