Heart to heart

I say empty nothings
every day – all day
most days;

they float like
unreflective
bubbles, drab
decorative
as moths.

They have one purpose
when I am capable of
purpose:

to make you think
I’m all alright,
to make you think
you have my
heart (soul mind
self)
held down
with pins
and classified.

It is a tired habit
this film deep
mannequin
revelation –
as much for your
defense as mine.

If you think me
safely stowed away,
you’ll stop your brooding.

A regular Delilah,
wielding calipers
and measuring tape,
you can’t not force
open the box;
you never could
resist quizzes
or taxonomies.

I’ll help you out:
Homo sapiens sine sapientia.