when the sand fills,
and the hands of time
caresses you into submission,
freedom feels a little too
overrated a concept.

we are puppets
dangling at the side
of a building, waiting to
be taken off the clothesline
or by the wind—
both of which we know
we'd gladly take just
to end the discussion.

i am a firm believer
in whispers.
small talk isn't
too small for me.
i hold my words too close
to my chest i barely breathe
without them.

so now, as my eyes fail me,
i wish time will be so
kind enough to tell me
how all of this ends.
i do not want to suffer
more than i already do—
and i do not need
another lesson on how to
survive in this
god-forsaken life.
yet everyone feels
compelled to
give me one anyway.

I don’t know you
not really anyway
it’s small talk if not silence

but I do know that
you want to be reborn as flowing water
me as a ray of light

maybe
in another way
in another life
just maybe
we could learn to love each other

My thoughts get polluted in the short span
of time it takes them to run to my tongue.
Intent evaporates, I find myself
spewing banality with confidence.
Dubious sense of humour fails to land
a punch; I dodder past with a faux grin.
Finally it’s time to pass the baton
to another unwilling candidate.
I nod pleasantly as we continue
our dull charade of camaraderie.

Once upon a time being sociable
meant exchanging infrequent messages.
The small talk prattles on… I think about
the lost luxury of writing letters.

Hello all you beautiful people
that’s how I would start my dissertation
beautiful people with nothing to lose
and everything to gain

while ugly people,
plain people persons like me
have to work so hard, softened, while you,
intent on being beautiful,
are nothing
if not beautiful

My one thought gets lonely when I see you
what ought to be considered entire and whole
will one day also grow old
the beautiful are nothing if
not beautiful

For me thought comes naturally and I
consider myself fortunate as I must be
content at not being beautiful,
am forced to say something so profound
that a phrase line like
“I broke a nail”
is not as life threatening
or
“How about the price of gas”
won’t seem as wonderfully global
as it would from beautiful persons,
intent on being simply beautiful
when beautiful is simple
or vice-verse

Ugly person you see must work at being
charming, quick witted and swift
while you polish nails
I polish my lines for a play in which
the only star is the beautiful person
behind my ugly shell

A treatise on Bach, formal judgments of global peace
Orwellian theory into practice
both animalistic and I-Robotesque
work their way into ugly people conversation.

Not, “the price of gas”
but "why" the price of gas
or *how" the price of gas
and knowing the answers.

Plain persons have so much more going their way
for the effort expended learning something crucial
something literal, may one day eke a way into
beautiful persons conversation
beautiful people intent on being beautiful
are only beautiful and nothing
if not beautiful.

As for the cockeyed slim-jim like me
I’ve got a lot of learning to do
my hopes of ever being beautiful have long since passed
I thank the Gods and technology for the quest to question
and the simple beauty of not being beautiful

For if I knew nothing except how to be beautiful
I’d be lost for last words
and as for being beautiful
I’d be nothing if
only beautiful

I fear living for someone
centring someone in my universe
I fear not not wanting to be alone
constant noise in my silence
I fear wasting my time on someone
putting my life on hold for them to leave
I fear a lifetime of small talk
being a product of their routines and races
I fear not finding belonging
not being in control
I fear the prison of my mind
never finding the person I don't fear with
I fear not being special in the insignificance
never being not afraid to be vulnerable
I fear only existing

I hate small talk
Although it's a start
It's always the same questions
Those questions beg similar answers
"How's your day"
"Do you like the weather"

I want big talk
Two intellectuals conversing
I want to talk about space
The intricacies of clouds
The beauty of the world
Or even controversies

Let's all take the time to move from mere small talk to big talk

Swerving in, I re-enter
A roundabout conversation
Driving mindless words
You make me flushed
It gives me a rush
As all of our cars
Scramble out of our garages
Directionless.

I do not say
What a day contains
The conversation dull
Though you may ask
I will pass
To speak would all be bull.

I don't judge you
out loud
I laugh when you want me to and
smile at convenient intervals and lulls in
conversation in
life