My words fall through the weightless air,
suspended by their hope.
As my inchoate, transient gutteral noises
keep the air resonant.
And noiselessly clanging, the un-used words
fall in piles on the foor.
Each one never to be chewed, swallowed
and spat back out.
And gone forever is the moment of meaning
borne on their back.
While glazed sockets full of uveal fluid
scan the visual milleau.
And their wrinkled big-brain
becomes slick from idleness.
As the future dances with entropy,
disillusion takes the lead.

01/27/2005

Posted on 01/27/2005
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