VOICES

Voices
PM1303142

The rope continues to pull tighter

around my neck as absence 

wears off and reality once more

comes crashing down like a ton

of bricks.

How could things get so boring again,

so quickly,

forgetting the daily drudgery and

ennui, the fools,

oh so many fools and the day's

endless landscape pushing on towards

the evening as I await the gun to

go off and I sprint off the blocks,

out the door and back into civilization.

I have broken my scythe, my hoe

and my spade,

laid them all down by the side of the

road, waiting before dousing them

all with gasoline and springing back

in alarm at the instant wall of flame.

Picking up the charred instruments

I realize the futility and wonder how

long it take me to get new ones.

The rumor mill never ceased during

my hiatus and I wonder how I have

kept my job if even half the things I

have supposedly done had proven to be true.

The cool spring breeze whips around

the flag outside and I am forbidden

to join it up on the pole,

to overlook the four city blocks

and to watch over all who pass

beneath me.

I can't sing to the heavens as they

have been closed over by clouds opening

up to the brightest sunlight or the

billion dollar downpour that would

threaten to drown me if I dared to

open my mouth.

I feel sick to my stomach right now

and I wonder if it churns for the

present or is still upset about what I

fed it last night?

Hours pass as I sit here and lament.

The void is never filled and the flood of

tears passes quietly into the drain and

never amasses enough to drain my misery.

From a distance I can hear someone

yelling and I wish they would just shut

the fuck up or at the very least,

lower their voice.

Who am I to tell someone else to shut up?

Why, I'm the poor idiot, sitting here

at my desk, and I'm the one who has to

listen to it.

One accurately thrown rock would be enough

to solve the problem, sadly, there is never

a rock around when you need it.

MCC