Stuttering Nothings

The pace is frenetic, the path erratic.
Stumbling surely with steady slips of uncertainty grabbing my attention.

“There’s no such thing as good or bad!” exclaims she
with tremble and beads of nervous darkening a slash of smile.

“There’s no inherent value in anything we do…” panting now,
feverish with compulsive ambitions of ceaseless momentum
driving forth the slaving force that grips her feet to stage.

“Everything sucks ass as much as it’s awesome,
all that matters is sincerity and connectivity
with our fellow bunkmates on this journey through the universe,”

and her voice falters through the cracks, she blanches, turns
an expressive 180 as enlightenment dims the avalanches
of chasmic dark that paints our silhouettes.

The freedom of nihilism only gives a reason to feel silly, not any comfort
or reprieve, and littered sticks of incensed burnouts will hear their quiet, too.

“What do you think?”

Addressing silence, I expected more than blank stares
and side-stepping tangents of incomprehension.

“Where do we go from here?”

Stuttering nothings blurring into synapses of hit shows and remixed refrains
of mindless radio nonsense; viral strains of manufactured entertainment setting in the rot.  

Mortar powders the bridges of nose and cheek, curtains betray a resident withdrawn.
I lob pebbles at your windows, watch them clatter against brick and roll down on the lawn.

I give up fights and move down to separate blocks in detached neighborhoods.
Urban, suburban, rural and beach - traveling through climate each to each to find the voices.

I am perpetually convinced that they will not sing to me.

Got That Goose // Burro Bar

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