Open mic. Didn’t I tell you? Off 
squatting in nourishing overview, there’s one vulgarity  
Of a deceptive simplicity  
in love as well as pride, duplicity.   
 
Thing is one boyfriend keeps faith  
better than others, believing neither.   
 
Separated from a source of meditation, let’s call it, you’d be sad.  
The source is not sad. One separated from the source is.  
 
Or it’s that obvious.  
Sadness is not itself.