Base Shook

Barely knowing not quite talking
A glance and nearly a whisper
but nobody is talking

It is still in the advertisement
but the shop had run out

You see people carrying them
on the barstools of the devout
they sit and majestically
cement our attitudes into capsules
we can swallow
believing in the inner sacred
we believe in things we did
the shoes still carry traces
of that mud under their treads
they left dents in the ground
still there on the paths that we took
now we wait for our dinner
talk of incidentals about
those that matter more than
the facts that we shared
or the trees that we shook
the leaves that landed around
the base of the wheel the
turning faces of time
the changes in our
lives

these were the unfinished vows
we carried into the playground
the opened cans of torments
the stumbling old men
who carry our coffins
out of the playground

the trees that fall in the park
nobody carried them out, they
cut them into pieces
and burnt them on fireplaces

the city is full of noises
but nobody hears them
they believe the noises
are signs of life

they are the sounds of
corruption