Poem of the Day 10.02.08

talk talk talk

the words sit idle on the page
as i sit here, too,
and people continue to talk
a fine blather around me.
it is such perfect nonsense,
most of what is said
between one set
of flapping gums and another.
it is a perfect madness.
it is a perfect stink.
wars have been made from
conversations such as these.
empires have fallen.
murders have been committed.
fortunes have been gained
and lost.
landscapes have been stolen
and pioneered,
and one civilization has give way
to the next,
during a discourse on politics and art
over a mediocre dinner
and a warm glass of beer
amongst friends.
such blowhards we are.
such dumb geniuses.
such beautiful uselessness.
we can’t even turn over
on the creaking bed
without farting out an apology
to the one next to us
thus breaking the silence
long fought for in the night
the silence that, once again,
will become so hard
to regain.