The Day

Reviews of the day;
Monologues that used to
Consist of willed
Utterances,
Less
Remembrances of words
That would fall from these lips;
The baseless formation
Of sounds
To thwarted
Tipless information.

Unsettling feelings of
Off putting ruminations
Nestled inside
As the loss of desire
To be envisioned
Is ordained to
The swirling abyss
In the ability to recollect
Minute details
To determine perceptions
As every past
Guttural noise
Of communication
Slickly escapes me;
Unable to mold
A single word.

Just the rhythm
Just the sound
Reeling on turntables
Of her powdery voice.

-Sabs-

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