Like a whale moaning with an open maw
I can hear it bounce off the walls—
The slight of your meandering voice
Sounds like shrill shrieks annoying glass
Fracturing thought.

So you dress like a yenta,
You sip on your tea,
Only to spill from the pitcher
In your dealings with me.

Gather like little leeches.
Tiny little parasites,
Sharing their intellect
A hive mine scuttlebutt
But truth eludes like a saline
Filled with antibiotics that cure them
Flushing from the shores of reality
Back in their rumor mill.

Like a whale moaning with an open maw
And I have the spear.