Empty Words

by Max Binder

Good morning
is an aching lie
and I’m fine how are you?
stains like sin.

I have not truly spoken in months.
but coughed out letters,
garbage language—
lost meaning an era ago
How was your day?

I’m so tired.
Forgive my tongue,
it is an old soul
weathered down by polysyllables
crashing out of context
in a torrent of mannerisms.

And I’m so tired
of listening for feeling
in rattling shells.

So tomorrow
I will talk with my eyes
a touch on the cheek,

a smile;

reply with a heartbeat—

Immolate dictionaries
write new language
imbue it with life
speak love
write sorrow
live

live.

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