Let them fray their tongues
there’s poetry yet to be written
They’ll talk until their tongues fray
But I’ll love them with my poetry anyway
When their lips can’t pass a word to say
I’ll be their voice, and for their souls pray
As much as I’d love to help everyone, I can’t,
Not especially people who are conniving
Who I see from far horizons
Approaching with wild ego’s galloping
As if I was a carcass for feasting
They make for good muses.
The talking is a given. They won’t stop. That’s their job.
My job is to pay attention and extract the nuances of the human condition.