ALL ABOUT NOTHING
I waste in verbalism.
The sounds come out of my mouth
swimming in the gray afternoon;
their white swollen bellies float
as if they are dead fish in a polluted aquarium
with an equal proportion of water and sand.
The words seem to have a purpose;
they fall around me disintegrating in syllables as
I spread them thin on the coffee cups,
and I am not afraid of an explosion
when my audience roll their eyes
“whatever”
they don’t say it
but I feel it. As if they didn’t go through that.
I uncoil.