The mute speak in raucous voices
Spewing chocolate éclairs and ice cream
At satiated audiences.
The blind behold paper movie-set flames
Licking the walls of war-torn villages
Where no one lives.
The deaf attend to the muffled sirens
Of disgruntled men in leisure suits
Who cry “Buy!” and “Sell!” into cellular phones.
I see only darkness through my colored contact lenses
As pop bands play, “My future’s so bright I gotta wear shades.”
I tap my foot, sans rhythm, to the minstrel mime blaring silent recordings on a blank tape.
Voices clamor for the sky.
Tears fall on the shadows of shoulders.
While I orate and conversate.
And emit passionate cliches and sublime euphemisms.
But only the mute hear me,
And they can’t respond.