Words drip from open mouths
just a broken seal, a mind leaking,
happy just to hear itself, outpouring;
and I wonder do they hear their trite resounding,
like a metered drip, a heartbeat,
letting them know they still live.
dripping egos in wet and careless puddles,
on streets and in homes, as day flows,
and I see these machines of chatter,
like robot strutting, jolted movement
and blurred lips venting,
and question what it is to be alive.
Am I crazy to see this pointed travesty,
this meaningless dripping of words,
when life so afferent, so beguiling,
surely there must be purpose,
at least a creative thought to breach
the mundane bored and shallow bleachers
of dulled and moronic minds?
Perhaps they have given up,
lost within their heads,
and what mind has gleaned lack-lustre,
not offering any thoughts to bed,
or maybe their minds are wood,
words like sap marking their slow and tedious demise,
or perhaps they hang on a thread,
wait for a new sunrise.
I listen to their faint drips,
watch their parted thin lips and sigh,
for life is so filled with glee and opportunity,
and they like stiff and atrophied prey,
wait for their darkness to consume them,
come what may,
as I watch their lights grow dimmer.
Tony DeLorger © 2016