Perorations On Late Evening Poem by RIC BASTASA

i thought i have nothing to say anymore
it's because i have said much and someone who listens
must be pestered,

this man is saying nonsense, how come he has always something to say?
a to z, agitated to zipped.

i myself, am amazed
why i do not cease, where did all these parrots and monkeys come from?

am i simply parroting? am i not a monkey making noise?
what for?

there is a disturbance,
this sickness that is looking for a cure from words

i do not intend to make paper herons
thousands of them so i may recover
and be whole again

splinters, graffiti
a shower of tiny paper cuts
in different colors falling out from the 17th floor
mistaken as
a celebration from the passers-by

i always have something to say for as long as the words live
for when words are said, i continue living

smoke from the train, it always gives it the impression of motion
like the smoke from your mouth
those who see it are happy, ...you are still alive and
they can now sleep