what how

Crash


Hurting one's feeling is never fun
Yet, for their own sake it must be done
Thoughts slow down at the censor's toll booth
While in hot pursuit of metaphorical truth

I pay the toll but that's not all
speed traps ahead, cops, bumps, and more
Yet I'm lucky there is a road at all
paved over an ancient minefield and its bones

bones of ancient victims stick out
the side of the road, left and right
I day dream as I drive on the wrong
side of acceptable thought, and crash.
why who
the world's shortest poem is a dot
. but, only and only if it is not