signals

Been searching for the place between things,

spaces amongst boundaries,

holes within limits,

all my life.

Now I am here–

the silence middling speech and thought;

what was said, 

and what has not.

Hoveled in this language

they murder with use every day.

Choice used sparingly

tired

of lies, implies, and smiles.

If we aren’t what we say,

then who are we today?

Resigned to tomorrows,

tomorrow’s futures

denied.

The voices your pitch

catches

and wanes like the mirror

splashes with hope,

and promises,

but I know they ain’t meant for me.

Growing listless–

listless growth–

apologies accepted

in the ashen of smoke.

Turn this inhalation

outward,

for all the dear poets

know

speech is what we hear

when there’s no place else to go. 

 

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