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.