Poetry

Summer Bummer, 25 (177.)

All the words
come tumbling out of my
feverish fingers
like candies from a just-shattered jar,
no substance, all sugar rush,
and it’s easy to see
this conversation won’t go far.
There is no action,
only reaction,
and the total lack of time
I devote to online discussions
shows like a welt.
What happened to nuance?
When did I abandon consideration?
I’ve been rushing around,
dashing mad from point to point,
forgetting to nail in boards
and build a bridge.
The river will rush by later,
faster and stronger than I can ever be,
and I’ll just have time to wonder
how I drowned myself in negligence.

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