Any Label Will Do
Let’s put the title of these thoughts
aside for a while.
None of this is real anyway.
The talk is ghost chatter,
a pitter-patter of escaping images.
The arrangement of these words
claim to be poetic
yet can you hear the uncouth hammering
of blind console keys?
What is thinking now is a passing jiggle
on an oscilloscope attached to your awareness.
What you think when reading this,
even now
is transforming into distant gull cries
strained through a megaphone.
Don't try to make sense of thoughts
and words
your reactions are a part
of the lie we peddle between
ears and mouths.
The poem is done.
It will live now
just as long as it can be contained
in a storm tossed teacup.
Be as reasonable as you can,
move on
read or write,
imagine a day
without you dreaming you.
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