Impossible Instruction

I know you're in there
somewhere;  your incessant
murmuring, a restless stone
in a deep well.

It's too late to be admonished
or desired.  That skein has
shed.  All prophets eventually

sample the sweetmeat,
the core without
its hard, brown shell,

leave a written critique
taped to the backdoor.

Even I am tired of speaking
in riddles. 

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