UNTITLED

Until you come to feel the voices

Have started making certain choices,

 

Timing the important parts

For when your intellect departs,

 

Humming, chattering, and carrying on

In a Spirit-Being Talkathon,

 

Inversely to your consciousness,

So spectacles can reminisce

 

In the corners of your nodding ears

Where corroboration disappears,

 

And the music of the atmosphere

Remains garbled and unclear

 

(Although trying to convince

You with a sea of hints

 

Of the nearing reef’s explicit lisp or

A lost world’s eerie whisper).