Admittedly,
I know less and less about

more and more. I am learning
how I should be shut

up and stay that way. Opinions
are balm for the less-

informed; facts are for the 
fast trackers to argue. I am entitled

to have my own opinion but not to love
your facts. Argument’s all

I have to make me feel something,
make me feel some small control over

fate and fact. I shouted enough,
now it’s time to

act. Time’s ticking.  Ticking
isn’t enough; it’s time to

blow things 
up.  Up and over the walls,

up and over the weird walls
of leveraging how I’m supposed

to be now that I have no footing
I’m used to and have to shut 

up and all that, supposed to listen
when I can’t understand what’s being

said. I can’t understand 
being.  I can’t understand so

much, have a million statements
in my bank of words and still nothing

sounds as articulate as
a bullet’s sonic boom.