Cassette Tape by Nick Barrows

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
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
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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