After work
I come home from a
half hour bike ride;
I don't count
the miles,

why bother?

As I place my bike
against the bookshelf
I have yet to organize

I overhear people
in the kitchen;
loud like the engines
of trains on a sunny
day in Arkansas

They're talking
about *****,
the tips
of *****

nuts;

blurry waves
of cosmic notes
against the sheets
of empty space

This is what we do
with noise when
our brains
fill to the brim
with symbols,
concepts, ideas
and worries

Do we have
real control over
our tongues?

How they click
and cluck; lash
like bullwhips
against the back
our teeth

As though
they are in a hurry
to get our mouths
to turn the
thoughts into

daggers;

sling them wherever
and hope they
hit a target;

any target will do