Nothing wrong with
screaming
if your only voice is
buried in a ditch…or worse yet
entombed in a box.
Storage costs are cheap right now.
I’m paying sixty five dollars a month to
keep my own mouth shut.
Why not
plant my voice in a pot on the balcony
next to the flowers that won’t grow?
Hang it in the closet
with shirts and ties and slacks that go unworn?
A place more accessible.
Carry it in my wallet
touching pictures of loved ones
I’ve all but forgotten
behind crumpled receipts, credit cards, and twenty dollar bills
used to buy more silence for myself?
Its too immense, too loud, too emotional…
too important to share with this place.
It can’t be limited to a mere 12x12 existence.
If a page can barely contain
how can anything in this apartment
expect to be real in comparison?
There are too many limits here and not enough margins.
Not enough substance and too many needless things
to simply put my voice on the mantle and wait for it to be heard.
1 comment:
It's odd... but I feel isolated even as I read this. There's a very palpable dissociative quality to this (for me), and it's intriguing. Great lines, as per usual. Many a potent quotable-- Enthusiastic thumbs!
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