Dunce

Can you spell the true?
Kin you spill the gruesome ruth?
Nothing to rue. You?

I could speak a simple truth
Into ears complexly whorled
Like funnels to catch the drops
Of a gone long world:

There is nothing, true,
Just as there is nothing false,
Just as true and false consort
In the ballrooms of the world.

The silent, cornered dark:
We leave nothing and no mark.