When words can’t
I know that 2 + 2 = 4 and it’s πr2 for something else.
And if I drive 60 mph for half an hour, I’ll be 30 miles away.
This tree is made of atoms,
which are made of protons and neutrons and electrons,
which are made of smaller particles like a quark,
or another thing, teeny and strangely named.
I know I’m sitting on a couch, eating popcorn and there’s a stain on my hoodie from lunch.
My name is Snubsta, because that’s what they say I’m called.
But what of the other things? The not-things? The knowings?
How do we accommodate the deliciousness that arises when words… can’t?