I care not for your daily tales,
The sound passes through my worn ears
Like wind through tattered sails,
Like holes in a fishing net
The words pass through,
Escaping the sounds
The dull hums of you.
Drown me over board,
Cast me no line,
I’ll forget your words in the sands,
Of my sinking time.
I empty my lungs and sink into the black crush,
Don’t pull me back to your vomit of words
Your tedious gush.
I care not for your inverted commas acceptable version of events,
No smile will break my cheeks
My dead pan face
Frozen in place,
Lost in sand grain stars
And all their endless space.
Suck me into a black hole,
Void of interest I feel only darkness towards your insipid matters,
You puncture my mind with your worm hole drawl,
As you grind out your mouth soil
At slowest grinding crawl.
I care not for your watered down yarns,
The slow turns of your materialistic wheel
Spun by your constant uninspiring spiel,
Turn the wheel to release the noose drop,
Let the trap door open
Let the teeth clattering stop.
Clattering with rusty tracks screech,
The constant need you have to give unwanted speech,
Your tongue flapping like a runaway train
Whistles in my tunnel ears
My tinnitus brain.
I care not for your holy sermon preached from on high
By the grace of God go forward say I,
Preach your gospel
Your enlightened views
To ones that would, and do so choose.
So as my dead eyes stare back at you,
Lost black ships abandoned in their milky pools,
I remain anchored by your conversation rock
Longing for time to speed its tick,
Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.