Morbidity


(...not that I would know any better than you...opinions are like assholes...
...everybody's got one...here's mine)

Morbidity requires a mind,
someone to mind
or not mind
         what is said                                             
           or not said.

There is no thing 
to be                             
morbid about                                
         
without
an actor to do                              
the being of morbidity,
a mind that can’t bring  
itself to say
“I don’t mind if I don’t,”
a mind that insists
            that
there always be 
some 
          one
to mind.
          
I mean,
if I were to say

“Love eats truth for breakfast
and shits
the blood of the beloved
sweetly into your mouth,”

…in the forest…
			…with no one around…
	…to…
		…hear…
			 …it…,

would you
—could you, really—
mind,   

when love 
and truth
are the only realities

and only 
the trees
are listening?