Nobody really reads
Anymore
And I sit here with my pen
And page
Quartz-white and aching
With the longing to be heard
With the longing for the scratches
Of life and love and pain
To leave their trail
Like the snails who emerge
To the freshness of the rain
With a purpose and a will
On the fences and the leaves
On the skin of another.
Nobody really reads
Anymore
Eyes scan screens and pages
Lifeless
As if expecting something more
To leap out from the words
To seep from the page
And settle beneath the skin
Like a message or a meaning
Or something better to take
The time away
A quiet infection of purpose
Or entertainment or something
Something other than this.
Nobody really reads
Anymore
As a colourless wash paints over
It’s grey
Face recycled with the same words
That we heard before
That we heard tomorrow
With no more meaning than the clouds
Which spin and scuttle
Like frightened crabs across the sky
Across the beach
To the sea that swallows them whole
As the language slowly dies
Behind our eyes.
Nobody really reads
Anymore.