i don’t want to listen to your face
it’s not for you?
you look embarrassed
you sound embarrassed
having to listen
to try and figure out
what in the hell
you’re talking about
the walls are closing in on me
philoneous cerulean rivers and moons of yesterday that help ease my pain
i have no idea and i simply can’t fathom
what in the world you’re talking about
is this to be taken seriously?
i guess you have to do it
i can hear you breathing here
i mean it goes with the territory right?
what else would you do with yourself
being you call yourself a poet?
and all the other mediocre poets on the planet
want to be moved by your cringe-inducing
never-ending spoken word
and that includes me.