a stenographer, suddenly faced with the importance
of a freshly-inked word on a desiccated page
was so silent, and silence dictates

it spoke volumes, but she was deaf
so her hand just plotted along...

it was as if the texture of the page suggested it
and away the pen ran along the grooves
the scholars were so **** upset
so uptight, alone and aloof

so they spoke to themselves, to no others
and no one fully listened, or tried
(just half interested nods
with minimal eye
contact

and we waited for the end)
as we had walked along
the dusty shoreline

you said;

'I hear the clattering of the television in the next room
the scant candlelight manifests over the dead powerline

& when anyone reads, re-reads it,
I will wonder what was being carried on about
and speculate why your persuasion pervades
a soul-crushing cheapening of the divine
an endless routine, banality of eternity
strength or weakness in our climbing limbs
hosts and the departing parties, faces sans grins