Anatomy of a Fool

Pale tresses arbitrarily jut out
from a head that over thinks
I know this from your scruffy jawline
that has no filter
it tells me you don't have
the word to describe how you feel

My coke-bottle lenses
magnify true colored brows
that furrow with the news
from your jaw that moves too much
while my mandible
prefers to stay immobile

That way, the word
will not be prodded
or poked
or teased
or coaxed
into existence
that way, the word
won't be at all

It makes sense in my mind
beneath dark knots and snarls
that manifest themselves
within my cognition
until I realize I'm a fool
for the word
that isn't real.