What Rises

You have a lot to say.  Surely you don't believe all of it -- the musings, the opinions, the elaborated remarks.  Where does it all come from?  More casual than wisdom; less educated than accumulated.  A mixology of sorts: A snatch of this, a hank of that.  Never at a loss.  It comes across as rather hodgey-podgey, unherdable, like cats.  Cats that might curl in one's lap, or swipe a scratch, who knows which, not even them.  

You're loud at times.  It's unintentional, the heat of some sudden rise.  But I know this about you -- you don't really care.  Or yes, okay, you do, but fleetingly -- it passes through, an electric charge, a feral thing momentarily asserting itself.  You wonder at the way it sticks around after you (mere host) move on.

You don't pander, I'll grant you that.  Those thoughts, emergent, aren't flattering at all. What pulls it out?  Not generosity.  You're not a giver, are you.  Or a taker.  Something else, some straddling of divergent realms.  

You're oddly certain, however ungrounded.  Sure of shot -- why not?  Does anybody truly need to grind up every word, to get the story?  Here's a hint: It's really everything required.  What one sees being a fraction of what is out there.