Tyring To Be Smooth In Speech
this morning i read
some notes
about myself and i notice how i tried to be
smooth
in my speech as my notes still want to insist
ethical considerations
the motif of my day, the struggle to be always
calm and cool
the war against the tendency
to hurt another without our conscious knowing
but
all seems to be
a kind of futile attempt to be kind
and gentle
like a dog wagging its tail when you meet
along the doorsteps
of your house
i open some pages again of my
diary
or journal of the day
on a cup of tea
and two pieces of cookies
at first the language flows like a river
clear and
i even tasted a cup of its water
smooth to my
esophagus
and cool to my gum and i think
sweet, even sweet to my tongue
and i can feel
it flowing again smoothly
to my intestines
and then here i am finally
vomiting
i suppose nostalgia
is nothing but
nausea, the speech of loneliness
about a memory
long gone and very far away
the words are smooth
and then
somehow they kill
i close the journal at once
i open the window
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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