Fixing up the old talent.
Looking in at the stage
Wondering if the sorrow will come again.
Hiding here in the writing is test enough of a mans wits.
Why bother, what boredom causes these notions.
All of the promises of no voices broken.
All the disgust swept under rugs.
All for testimony at the phony trial
of music or art or polite acknowledgement of the others talents.
Breaking down the mind into figurative talent
skillfully destroy your own safety.
Words will not escape but they may rebel.
You are warned.