They don't hear the words,
the careful sounds,
nor see the lips move, hoping;
only string the lights past,
flashing white, the spectacle
reaching out to us, snatching
up all listless eyes.
I spoke my piece once
with no peace in which
it could echo, so I was drowned
out in a sea of blue neon,
and no one ever realized,
only clapped as I began to thrash.
They thought it part of the show.

04/05/2006

Posted on 04/12/2006
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