Mute

Brackish pool

Of granulated TV static

In my dead-sea mind.

Thoughts enigmatic,

And words dust,

In my mute throat.

Too hard to utter,

I let them float.

To absorb

In my brain’s clutter.

This body

Poisoned by the salt

Of silence.

Unspeakable

Emotional violence.

Then, before

Shy syllables

Emerge

From indifferent saline,

You’re too keen

To declare it’s my fault.

Inside myself,

I trouble seek.

Sifting through,

Your doublespeak.

Just you wait.

My self preservation

And I

Have a date.

04/07/2023