Renting this space, a greedy silence hangs a picture’s worth of words
Everyone could see that
swallowed whole by memory’s avarice.
Wishing wells charge a nickel for spitting change at our feet.
Copper coins disguising restless dreams for your thoughtlessness.
Ascending into the ravenous night
It’s darker still craving the whispering of sleep
Chattering then erased by the hands of desert heat
and devouring each frame by the sun’s first light.
Expensive gifts in extending hands
the size of a Harem’s ego. I can hear someone in the receiver
who’s listening in and plagiarizing quotes.
Hiding far away in a bustling bazaar
Where running and tripping into stalls and onto vendors
indicate a thief tried and given a sentence.
Reading between the lines
I only want what’s mine.
Leaping over puddles of words, dreaming I’m
a pink dancer whirling above
A hundred piece band playing
paragraphs behind that bow tied man, accenting notes and striking up chords.
In a pit they pluck, strike, beat, bow, blow, then
Towards the audience men stand and bend like commas
At the waist, ladies genuflect.
Holding onto their middle class accents audience exclaiming brilliance – encore.
Long and short vowels cover their heads like hats.
Musical words left behind all the birds
As they fly over a zoo of prepositions.
Phrases dangled from around the neck
Of a depressed lexicographer.
His tears streaking down his white powdered
Face. Why so sad wordsmith? He looked up
And sighed. Oh my dear what’s happened to my canon?
To our language? It’s all but died – tears streaming into a run-on life’s sentence.
Sitting atop the bridge of his nose helping him ny gathering any
Trying to rescue each noun and verb from
The grated gateway to the sewers below, too late to save them
From washing away- forgetting all the prepositions.
I haven’t a clue which path to take, from where, in or on whom, towards what end?
Explaining forever – masked, patiently you listened
superiorly, knowingly. Yet if I knew the definitions of ”milk”
And ”salt” is that all I’d add to the conversation?
Then three letters, frozen into a word, not steaming out of the kettle nor washing me clean of any guilt.
Still and quietly hanging inside the blackest cave I can recall stalagmites and stalactites and which hang and which protrude.
If I misunderstood you correctly, earthly teeth can be very dangerous,
Yet losing my directives for heavens sake, my pronouns – I got it all wrong.
For she, he, them
Or we and us, yet neither him nor her,
Could spend days waiting for anyone
not to remember.
Image from cafe press – please support the artist here https://www.cafepress.com/+funny_cancer_chemo_brain_blue_mini_button,1603297489