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I’m talking to you from this place of silence.

From under the wreckage,

the debris

the soot and the stones and the iron ruins.



all of you.

have chased me into this place of violence.

gasping and cornered,

I look horrified to the Your gaping maw of wanting,



always sure,


eager for more.




all of you…

will be the death of me.



Scarring me with your love and attention





There can not be no greater indictment than being You.

And for this…

only this,

nothing is forgiven.


You’ve condemned me to my exile in this place of silence,

in the island of discourse,

the monastery of idle chat…

the graveyard of inane prattling about the heat…


This will not be forgotten,

I will excise upon you a vengeance most terrible!


Upon you will be unleashed questions about your health,

interrogations about the weather,

queries over your emotional well being,

and probings as to the exact nature of your dogs dreams.


No platitude too empty,

no question too stupid.


I will be the spirit of family talk and courteous words in elevator,

and the ghost of Christmas past and future.


I will be uncomfortable silences!

long pauses and puzzled looks,

the tense hand that twitches as you look for the time,

the nervous laugh that assuages the unstoppable current of imbecility.


I will forever haunt your attempt to take me in conversation.








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