November 16, 2008
He speaks loudly. I
Appreciate his unique diction, rhythm, tone of voice
His handsome face still holds some remnants of youth.
Unfortunately, my appreciation is short-
Lived. The decibel count plummets.
I am on a white ship in a grey-eyed ocean,
Waving dreamily goodbye. He stands on the horizon
His figure shrinks, from a poet to an ant, a
Breadcrumb. Sweet buzzing, mellifluous buzzing, fills
My ringing ears. I look once more and he is gone.

I dig my nail into the wooden desk
Etching a nimbus cloud. Well, caterpillars
Turn into butterflies, who mature into dead silk,
And still he does not stop talking.
As day turns to night to early
Sunrise, his inflection irks me. Too enthusiastic, the
Preacher chirps. The early-bird purportedly catches
The worm, its small, slimy self sliding
Down its throat. Then gulp.
I, the audience, am the speaker’s prey.
His shrieks smother, swallow me
I am digested and helpless.

Black veiled spider creeps into your eye
You stand too close, laugh all too loudly
The volume of space decreases, compresses,
Compacts- then there is none.
Your sticky voice thunders on
Trudging through molasses.
The seconds turn into eternities
When will this torture end?

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