This day
these trifling words appear
to label what’s behind them.

It’s a source of great
bother and mirth;
they just hang there
like frozen snow.

(Snow that folds within
after locking drops in lines;
faced with laughter
they swirl and
each happenstance

I tripped over a
verb that was slid into place
and an emboldened noun
derailed a train.

I’m late to read the
and shout noises
that bounce back
off more verbose silence.

All I see is
polystyrene declarations
of love, death and lonesome
comedy. The truth
is tragic
that now it
all makes
broken, chaotic

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