After MP (2)

"I speak in the passive voice."
No, that's not quite right.

One would think rocks would get rough with age,
wouldn't you? An argument not worth having,

Camarón told him, he didn't believe it.
Spinoza told him, he didn't believe it.

But what? The thinness of strangers?
Gruel for thought?

I slept then woke, the usual order.
I emerged into the daylight.

That curious unfinished quality there,
a diagnosis cruel as glass in the pond.

I slipped into a patter designed to fool,
designed to defer or postpone.

You didn't deserve my deference,
you claimed, my condescension nor my recipes.

I replaced your walls with something stronger,
but they would be torn down the next day anyway.

It was worth it for the look on your face.
You should have seen yourself squirm!

I showed you better ways to do things.
I have small hopes for a better life.