I am all my words without wardrobe
my meaning is spent before dressing up
utterances were done without breath
facing a forest of seated tree trunks
and don’t know their ages staring back
their upper restlessness is loud for an audience
talking to myself in a wooden room
they just came here to overhear amongst themselves
whatever I was thinking escaped by distraction
there is no such thing as practice
the impetus to speak out is gone
the stampede of incoming was overwhelming
introverts muse is conversation enough
time passes laughing behind my back
nothing of substance is getting done
I half expect a cave-in of action to overtake me
impulse to rise up and feast on any movement
passive-aggressive can be an inner process also
silent shouts, shrieks and expletives
fill the inner monologue yet soundless outside
I continue to look like I am day dreaming
but it is a noisy bus-ride vacant of viewing
it does get me from here to there
I am sure I will get off the bus and be somewhere
and that will be demanding of itself for then
as now is all forgotten in the drifting of the day
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