I am a hearing loss away
from understanding you.
I read your lips with no interest
in comprehension what so ever.
It is enough for me to see
that you are talking at me.
Could I be this alert
and yet be in a comma?
I am stricken
with a thicker preoccupation
far away from here.
I am bound up with anxiety
for the way
a next moment may unfold.
It may come from a dark rain
of unforgettable remarks
that could be chiseled
onto a black reflective stone
that I will have to face
many times over
as my say, from my script,
as a self-imposed
loadstone of personal remarks.
Any words I say now
make me into an oxen
of recognition’s future labor.
Where one word plows into another
across a field of unrelenting guilt
under an unfulfilled obliging night sky
of expectations from others also.
For without these awaiting
stars as scars,
there is a more original kind
of new moon blindness.
I cannot joyously share in it
but only indifferently deny
how important it is to me.
It is a sad day
of undefined emotional weight
from pulling along
this inevitable impending doom.
I am already
a discouraged conversation
ahead of now.
It is all lip sink
relative to real time pain.
When they match,
a coffin of sky
will have a verbal skillet for a lid!
The acoustics from my inner voices
are already that process
close now yet somehow vacant,
bouncing off of a simple backdrop
of flat geometric coffin walls.
Thank god for dim light
reflected off these walls
that comes off in many shades.
I have come to feel for it
as solemn comfort
though also in my view,
chronic and overstayed.
I have also come to realize
that my dental work has a timeline
without regard to usage
but just to the death
of my smile.
No matter, halitosis
even from a last dying breath
always outlasts a smile anyway.
So ask me now.
Was there ever a sheet
drawn over the head now dead
or a shovel full
tossed onto
a six feet under coffin
to cover a cooling head
that ended it all
with an act as a message
that ended up being
the spiritually true
and karmically completing
last line?
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