Free write

I am free to write
silliness, for such things are not easily tangible.
They are round and rough,
frozen, then plucked out of
frosted air drifting dreamily
about like the coldness of ice cream crammed hungrily
into fickle, widened mouths.

I conjure words, sensible and non,
and fit them into complete sentences (or not)
that rumble across crusty fields of imagination
until they reach so much noise pollution that they are stifled; stopped dead in their tracks,
then crushed into eternal particles that float away on hues of blue and red
until only a faint trail is left and it can never truly be decided if they really ever existed or not.

No one will ever really know anything anyway.
For the very act of trying to hold knowledge as truth,
squelches, albeit utterly destroys, the very thing you thought you knew for sure.
Knowledge is slippery like jelly, or more like the worms I chased whose bodies tore in two
underneath my feral fingers when I was a long-haired boy.