Treasure Island

A.j. Binash

(04-20-1988 / Dodgeville WI)

The Wilting of Conversation


I wish I had excuses,
For why
White petals decay from stranger’s eyes.

As I assume to water blossoms
With spit speech.

I do rehearse conversation
With the dirt.
By the time it understands
I am knee deep in mud.

It’s enough practice
To keep my vowels growing.

While I wake up each morning,
Look out my window
And recreate conversation
For footsteps in the snow.

O
That nauseating feeling
When I realize
I am narrating my own footsteps.

I know where they’ve been.
The truth is boring.

Sometimes,
I practice in the mirror.
Decorate my reflection
With a bit of
Choice, spit, and relevance.

Flutter my eyelids
Till a lash breaks off.
Floats gently into my open palm.

Often times
I am shaking too much
To keep it in balance.

The wish falls with my spit.

I keep it there
And wait for mold to grow.
Everyone needs a best friend
That they can converse with.

Submitted: Friday, December 20, 2013
Edited: Friday, December 20, 2013
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