(You know, everything "poetic" that I've written has been the result of what I can only call "vomiting." Life just builds up in my head until, eventually, I am supposed to be doing homework and words climb out of my head and march to the keyboard. I type like crazy for two minutes. Then later I post said vomit on my blog. Why? Who knows? Who cares?)
Nobody knows
So why speak the words
That everyone wants to hear
Hear them over and over
Televisions, radios and ballpoint pens
Men in suits falling forever in the dark
Wishing for their mothers
Grasping at nothing
Never grown up
Waiting in the empty house
In the chair
A shelf of books you’d never read
A throat of words you couldn’t speak
Because, after all, who are you
And what are they
It’s raining outside
The grass grows but he can’t
Because he’s inside
And the buildlings are full of snakes
Flicking tongues
In his his ears
Maybe someone somewhere sometime
Used the words he’ll never say
But now there’s lots of fish in the sea
And far too much sea for a fish
To know what he’s heard
Day and night and day again
Another swirling mass of somethings
We could never understand
The sand moving beneath us
That we could never grasp
Take the words you hear
Say them again to another lonely soul
Nobody knows you’re a liar
Not even you
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