The Way We Speak

He writes poetry like

Words are going out of sale.

He writes poetry like alphabet soup

is his favorite food

and that's all anyone is eating.

He writes poetry like every Crayola

color has a story.

He writes poetry like we tell secrets.

He writes poetry like he is trying

to count the stars- innumerable as they are.

He writes poetry like language

is a platform supported by 26 beams

and every single one of them is rotting.

He writes poetry like the wind

howling through the city streets is

a crowd of protesting feelings

and only he can hear their words.

He writes poetry like he knows

there will be a flood.

He writes poetry like there is an eclipse

and no one knows if the sun will come out.

He writes poetry like the world

is disappearing and no one is listening.

He writes poetry like I speak

to you. But no one is listening.

You're not listening,

are you?