|
Joseph Lisowski |
|
UNDER THE WEATHER One thing 'bout a cold or a flu you know why you're miserable-- it's the bones, the muscles, the nose. The diarrhea, the eyes almost shut. It's ache. An' your mind ain't good. 'Cept for slow mo videos of you reachin' for tissue, napkin, toilet paper, whatever. Or a pill or a glass of brandy you wish you had. When you stop searchin' it's like a still life-- a rockin' chair, a couch, which you ain't in, a floor, that window always dark with night. An' the walls. The walls. SELF EXPRESSION What about all em words that come outa your mouth? A lifetime's worth, spinnin' in an' outa people's ears. Some what gave a smile. Some what caused a fight. Always too many. Always never enough. Don't know why I'm sayin' alla this sappy shit. Words is words. I'm only talkin'. Don't mean nothin. Consider yourself lucky. It ain't the only sound I make. |