The only thing left to say is
That there is nothing
Left to say, Not today at least
Not to you
Not to the partying crowd
Not to the angry moon
Or the wine glasses
Or the laughing hearts
There is nothing even to do
But wait for the twist of
Morning
Expect that by that time
Perhaps we have found
Something to say
Not just that
There is nothing I could say
Or do
Not too you at least
Not in October
But it is futile for morning
Too long a time
And by that time
All that could be said
Is that
All this time nothing has been said
These are now the rules of our relationship
Shall we start talking now?
You know how I talk in these October nights
No different from February mornings
Where air is good
Or April days
Where the sun is naughty
All the words are perhaps
But they cancel each other out
So?
Shall we start talking now?
When there is in front of us
A sordid mirror
My suit which is a farce
Your dress which is another farce
Drink in hand
Cigarette in another
Untalking. No talking. Detalking
(This is the tragedy of our own unsaying)
Remove, do not revitalize
The closing doors say (our bones say)
The movements of the mouth
In short we are tired
That there is so much to be said
And that there is nothing to be said
It is time for sleeping you say
Lull-laby-the-night-a-way
(and even here you gave up halfway)
To let our bones do the talking
(Or untalking)
It is a pregnant pause
A miscarriage
Nothing
Nothing
Nothing
