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


of lies, implies, and smiles.

If we aren’t what we say,

then who are we today?

Resigned to tomorrows,

tomorrow’s futures


The voices your pitch


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


for all the dear poets


speech is what we hear

when there’s no place else to go. 



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