What makes you tick?
Do you have a scratch you can’t itch?
The words keep on flooding
but just keep cruising on the ark.
Watch it drown you in
a chaotic, tangled, matted symphony
of Beethoven’s cacophony
and Hendrix’s silky screams.
“Move over”
asking do you dance?
or are those two left feet?
Dizzy with desire
for twisted tongues.
Be the cat
curious and candid.
Tell me with words of daisies
seething at the mouth, foaming like desperate dogs.
I want to know why
the Sun tilts and turns for some
but rages and burns for others
when they stare for too long.
Divulge everything,
don’t leave an inch untouched.
I was never one for
meaningless
Small Talk.