speculate and spit

we talk and talk

but we say nothing

of value

we speculate and spit

saturating the sanctity

of freewill and choice to live purely,


yet we think we were at some point

given the ability to say

when it is Judgment Day,

scarring and tarnishing,

scratching and acid washing,

the person who dares

be different




the satin sound of the deep trombone

vibrates through my mind

low and rumbling

interrupting the melody

and beat of the happy beeps

and bops

reverberating inside the small room

round and around

i see why they call it the blues