babble

madness or meloncholy
well lit and old newspaper yellow
grinding teeth and a chalky taste
the way fingers run themselves
over worried knuckles
the empty sound
vibrating at the end of a question
that inhale the sky takes before a sunrise
what disaster that night
and in what sense can the past exist
lunch served on that certain white only dishes possess
all the shapes and textures
which glass seems to take
how smell triggers memories
out of nowhere in a thought stream
not remembering the print on the last page
a car door shuts somewhere outside
neckties and needing a shave