When Phone Calls Don’t Suit

Lets speak,

shoot the breeze

or wind or tornado

with our vocal shotgun,

hope to kill pigeons,

I will be a high force gale

or south westerly chest

puff if it’s just to whip up

your words for one breath

and hear ‘hello,’ for my hair

is gusted into my eyes

and I must rely

on those trumpets

fastened to my brain

to process and make shapes

to the feelings blowing my way.

Or we could wait til tomorrow,

I’m pretty sure I’m scheduled

a hurricane,

just don’t believe it must be

a whirlwind visit,

I am a rock, after all,

ready for word erosion,

so lets speak.

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