basket of eggs

people continue to talk
long after we stop listening
they slip like foxes between
shadows within these moments
another story another tale
of woe so desperate to say
something to be a part
of some conversation
they tell some story
somewhat related to what
had been said before they
tell their fractured tale
with all its trailing ends
drifting piecemeal away
like old texts crumbling
at the end of the seer’s hand
these are the moments where
panic waits like porcupines
these are the moments
always nearby within
the seams of all the words
these are the moments
which constrict our throats
these are the moments
which should matter
these are the moments
which vanish into air
(October 13, 2013)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s