hello

Is it you speaking?
at me who held a thousand words on my tongue—
a dozen of which you spoke on my behalf,
pitching them directly from my brain's cotes
pitching them at whim with backhanded notes
that you play in the little games that we unwittingly design

Is it you speaking?
into what may seem an obvious sign—
yet as obviously oblivious to that little part lie,
putting fronts that crumble behind your back 
putting shots which whistle a jolly crack
that you breathe in the fetching circles we happily find benign