Small Talk
There's a heaviness
that comes over
leaking in from somewhere,
a certain mood
that paralyzes the throat.
It causes you to withdraw
and pull back
from where you can look out
and not feel what happens,
as if the nerves connecting
you to life are like those
to a tooth numbed
by novacaine.
When it wears off you find
yourself looking for a way back,
feeling around the dark for an exit
out of your own skin, riding
on the back of a word or two
as they escape your mouth
headed for the nearest conversation
where you can hide
in the small talk and nobody
will ever know you're there.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2023
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