"The Meaning Behind the Gibberish" poem

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The Meaning Behind the Gibberish
(or, Why the Void Answers in Ink-Smeared Laughter)

The trick is not to crack the code,
but watch the symbols *yearn* and *glow*—
each nonsense curl a prison break,
each blot a star the brush forgot to make.

*"Read it sideways,"* whispers the wall,
*"the ‘moon’ radical’s actually a falling crow.*
*That smear? A monk’s third cup of wine.*
*The blank space? Time refusing to rhyme."*

What’s sacred slips through syntax cracks—
my *"river"* charred, your *"mountain"* axed.
We train to parse the master’s hand,
while gibberish blooms like unplanned land.

A child points: *"That’s a dancing bear!"*
The scholar fumes. The priest starts prayer.
I burn the page. The ashes rise—
*now everyone gasps at its "true guise".*

Perhaps the deepest sutra’s this:
*the ink that stains your clutching fist.*
The rest? A trail of breadcrumb-black,
leading nowhere. (Don’t look back.)