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| Conversation |
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by Doug Tanoury
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And somehow there has grown
An icy silence between us
That expands to fill the empty space
Between our words and transform them
Into awkward pauses
And there is a tightness slipping about us
Like a snake that slowly winds and constricts
With ever increasing pressure
Around its prey cutting off movement
Until neither inhale nor exhale can escape
Our sentences are laborsome
And talk tends to lapse as time goes by
Into periods of nervous quiet
That populate and punctuate the conversations
Of those long parted and seldom seen
And there is graceless effort about us
Like a broken wing bird
Unable to fly
That repeatedly tries but always fails
To get airborne once again |
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Visit Funky Dog Publishing at:
http://www.funkydogpublishing.com/
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