Speak To Me

You hoard your words like a thin-lipped miser,
as if you’re afraid of spending your treasure,
and being left empty pocketed.
I try to pull them out of you, cajoling like a carny barker,
trying to separate you from your cash.
Who told you that words
were to be doled out like quarters, one at a time?
I’m an interviewer trying to coax the answers out of you;
an attorney cross-examining.
Should I give you truth serum?
Just once I’d like to see you open up your wallet,
spend some of your words.
Don’t you know you can’t take them with you when you’re gone?

I spend my words recklessly;
like I just won the lottery.
I’m lavish with them, I’m generosity itself.
I’m always chatting, yakking, talking, confabulating, blabbing, gassing, nattering, palavering. I’m promiscuous with my words,
I use them in dangerous combinations, I throw them like glittering coins into the fountain and make wishes with every sentence.
Ask me a question and I’ll give you three different answers.
My stories never end.
I go on too long, I know. People’s eyes glaze over.
I can’t help it, I’m word crazy, and
I can’t turn it off.
So I keep talking, fighting against the silence, filling up the air
between us with torrents of words.
Enough for both of us, and more.
Don’t mind me, I’m just talking to myself.
It’s better than silence; at least I think so.
Only sometimes, I wish you would answer.
I wish you would throw me a penny or two from your fortune of words.
I’m spending all of mine, you see.
Some day maybe there won’t be any left;
And then you’ll have the bankruptcy of
silence to
comfort you.

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