Big crowded restaurant next
to Mermaid Quay & my wifesteps out to take a call & I
focus on total sound of voices
talking--a liquid aural sculpture
of what bubbles, bursts, and flows
out of minds onto tongues & lips
& teeth. Fricatives and sibilants,
bumped rhythms, syncs and
overlaps, high-lows, quick stops,
clicks, loud cackles, the symphonic
babble of us. These folks
talk about, these eager eaters
paroled from homes, & they talk
to talk, as talkers do and must
& it's just good to listen
to the rich chopped salads of sounds
severed from sense--a dense
space, a tide. My wife returns
& I say, "What was she calling
about?" She says, "Oh, she
just wanted to chat."
