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.


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