by nature, words are evanescent
intangible and fleeting
so I sometimes ponder the morality
of tethering them to a page
lately,
I've been trying to understand
my relationship with words
what it means to write them down
from a to b, my mind to mouth
something in translation must be lost
I like to think it's
something divine
but if the best is missing
if these words have lost their meaning
are they not
like some empty Oreo,
futile?
I took a walk tonight
for the first time
without the intent
to alter my perception
the silence was unsettling
words were difficult enough
in theory, inside
let alone trying to
speak aloud
they attacked me
for not being around
for ignoring them
they swarmed my mind
and fought toward my tongue
they knew I had no smoke
to stop them now
though, with a cunning plan
I managed to
to cull the incessant savaging
I began to sing
I sang "I can sing this song so blue
that you will cry in spite of you. . ."
my mouth and mind occupied
by someone else's words
written to a sad,
someone else's rhythm
I was safe
from the stillness of night
with a mouthful of distraction
from sobriety
so I suppose I'll settle
for two chocolate halves
if I cannot find the filling
