Poem 22152

It doesn't matter what I say anymore

You're free to leave and take the time wasted

with you.

Whisperer of a thousand winds

Divulger of all secrecy

Spray your Hancock on unmarked walls

Something smells laughably wrong near the

home front

As if walls have been interrogated to tell

the truth that they no longer hold

Flies on the wall no longer invited in for

secret conversations

I guess what I'm saying is

A story is self-remembering

and you have learned to speak little

when called upon

She took from a sea

creating lakes not crystal clear

And sought new ways to channel

one's anger

And that's not quite right I thought.

Surely the sea keeps receipts of those

who partake of its honesty

Surely those who wander without the

truest intent stay broke

Too broke to purchase rapport

or a state of solidarity