When I walk down the street
everyone is talking.
It used to be conversations.
Now it is psychotic monologues.
I am polite and hold these within.
but everyone around me is so loud.
I can always hear you.
Yet I will not pause.
It is without words that I sense these layers.
I am reminded of the folds of conciousness.
As I walk through preston street under the scaffolding
I move centered in my hips, while I cheer myself on,
while my transcendental self whispers the past into my present mind,
the noisemaker, the aimless prayer, Babel.
The smile I wear.
Wonder at my ability
to keep it all straight
to keep it so quiet. (beandip)
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