If I
could annunciate
had
better diction
I could
be eating M&M's in space by now
but I
am just a winter house spigot
gurgling
to the outside
Waiting
for hands
Waiting
for mouths
Set to
a frozen melody
to
burst out
on
rhythms of hiccups
rattled
and rusted with green
A valve
not completely closed
with
drips
drips
drips
Swearing
and husking these dyslexic visions
stammering
on to the over growth that fouls hawked
From
septic to satellite missing all the faceted things in the middle
Sounds
and colors trying so hard to reach
Forms unraveling
and twisted, long strands bursting from the casing
to be
rolled up again by the inadequate pencil
the
feeble pinky
Muted
Fearful
Misspoken
Drawled tones that lose
an effective resolve
like being bullied in a
teen idol scene
Cracklings of the
petrified misgivings shoved in a looker
or plunged into the
commode
All the mail boxes have
been smashed
All the eggs thrown
No more toilet paper to
javelin
For the rest of the
tenure banging out cross-wired message
on garbage can keyboards atop
landlord desks
riddled with trinkets and
the forensics of a maniac
A pile of old lighters
with no special story
They were just to light
cigarettes
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