Words drool,
are drawled
or scrawled
on ripped paper;
notes passed to a lover.
Voice soft & slowed,
but still they will come out,
like that soaked spout
the spider never could climb up.
They pour
like a tropical storm;
if you stepped into it,
you’d be beaten down to the floor
& inexplicably no more.
How can you bear the weight?
Sort what I have just said
into some semblance of
a human state?
How can you hear darkness?
What do you do with it?
I can only whisper
& wait
til it’s my turn again.
Recovery;
such a hideous word