Communicate

a surge of speech, verging on old news, i am seldom heard
by you; i can't interpret myself

like a kite, a solitary flier
wrapped up in a lamppost--
i'm not made to flutter.

it's like speaking to a beech tree, a deaf love
with verbal inconsistencies and sign-language adultery;
if my words were leaves, they would weep
down around you in a flurry
and i would never know if they struck
water, or just crumpled to the ground--

and asking words from you is like asking
salt from the sea, you can only give
me a silent tide but no sieve; no method
of drawing salt from sand from an ocean deep;
your rocks are words
and i want your rocks, boy, your rocking
to and fro
but your waves refuse to speak.


____________

and you talk like you want to tie the knot
but there are too many knots tied
and i am not
a knife, love doesn't cut it;

and what is love without words
of love -- just trembling
sighs and mouth eating lips with lies.