Evening, The Writer Contemplates Being ‘In the Know’.

write what you know,
they say, out loud,
in their hearts, pumping
piss and vinegar with nary

a spoon of oil
to temper their
candor
(no emulsions here)

say what you mean,
they call, from their
pasteboard boxes
with pepper and sugary
so and so’s
(no dulcet caramel tones
in between those fluffy
layers of

i told you so’s.)

how old, this
paranthetical musing
how tired and tried
and true
(like the southern
comfort of a cheese
biscuit)

i feel like the well -
oiled venerable
mountain of skin
primed up for ink;
writing what i know
is what everyone else
knows:

we’re all in
now.