Small Talk Gatherings

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Small Talk Gatherings

The loud people,

They talk down from their permanent shelves

Up high in the sky, all the way down in hell

Where they buy and then sell

Compliments to each other,

Each others', they all love each other’s

But the tones in their neck,

They drown out the vibration of their weakening heart’s flutter

 

So sell me the bliss You know we all ask for

I’ll pay You in the sharp tongues we grew to defend an empty shell of a castle

Then I’ll go cash it in for 7 years worth of being an asshole

And spend them all proud with both of my hands full

 

The angels,

They tessellate into the rest of the world

Far from the heavens, way down low in the dirt

Where they’re walked upon, spit on, and go unheard

But the lives they all live, they’re the ones that are yearned

 

So sell me the bliss You know doesn’t exist

And I’ll pay You in lies I tell myself to believe in it

Every tried true emotion I swear I’ll trade in

For the enjoyment of plastic trees and small talk gatherings

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To have great poets there must be great audiences too.

Walt Whitman, American Poet (1819-1892)

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