Small Talk

Too many empty words...

Shaken chords, taut under flesh, limp

plethora of verbs, adjectives, too much

lack of feeling, empty pots, boiling, boiling

churning spit over masticated bone, crushing, crushing

the hollows where brain and soul meet, shriveling-

too many finches, caged and flapping,

twisting hungry beaks swiffering feathers out

of cracks, arranging them on arms and legs

Firecrackers, oh ah bursting, neon pimped

on flat 2 x 3 index cards, lined, ready, scurrying

infestations burrowing into gray matter,

pick and pronged, an involuntary autopsy in silver

tray, no labels, no bags, just ooze and empty compliment,

misrepresented finery, a goblet so full

it floods each floor in order, no stop-

the attic door locked tight against insatiable lips