Friday, December 01, 2006

I can't speak
though the dialogue between us
typed and untouched
on the broken typewriter
in the back of my mind.

As you await a response
and I stumble over mountains
of "uhm's,"
and streams
of "ok's" and "un huh's"
I know what I could say,
though I deny,
because I already know the scene
and your reply.

If I say the words I'm thinking,
if I utter the symbols transcribed
of black ink and faulty structure
fragmented from beginning
to end
on this fragile sheet,
will you even feel?

But I already know
that there is no line
nor word
that I could say
that would make it

The paper is torn,
thrown aside.
with the rest;
the mound of thoughts
laid to waste
in the corner of my mind.

As I say "goodnight,"
I feel it as
And I find,
as I tour my mind,
I'll be lost here,
at this point,
every time.

** Please do not copy or reproduce this original work. **


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