In a post-truth world
With all that’s unfurled
In an age of multiplying
Masks and vaxxes
Always on the take
Ready to shoot
Fake news, false prophets
Empires in cahoots
Liars with desires
Body doubles, ghostwriters
Crisis actors, mannish mothers
Digital twins, deep fakes
What makes sense?
Sense as in senses
Common as in wealth
Your lying eyes
The gate of gates
Your nose will know
Your toes will tell
A tongue in tears
A shiver up your spin
Hairs, hares, heirs
Standing on end
The lips tingling
The scent drifting
Fingertips talking
Or at least trying
If you’d only listen
With the touch
Of your mind
With the heart
Between your ears
In the soft space
Between the words
Crowing, cooing, cackling
Screeching, howling, laughing
The waves emoting
Breathing, flowing
The susurous swaying
Of resonant reasoning
Will be revealing
In the twilight
Or when you’re sleeping
But almost always
When you’re not looking
Kensho Homestead 