I heard your voice
spoken by someone else
on the radio,
your ideas spewed together
in an unfurling list
of namechecks and trainspots,
moving around me
with too much motion,
speaking to your Now,
yet carbon dated
the moment
it left your lips.
Everyone is looking
for another Dylan,
when they should have been
searching for themselves.
Your words
can tumble blindly
in an infinite search engine,
leaving the listener breathless,
yet not remembering
a thing you said,
what you did,
or who you are.
There is no space
to
let
the
words
breathe,
and to find
a new voice
among our daily reverly.
You can speak
to your times,
but it does not speak to me.
You can say a million words,
yet they may not
say a thing.
The times are what
we choose to make of it,
and we must
find our own
spaces in the air,
in our words,
in our thoughts,
and we can go
at our own speed.
-Daniel Coston
August 29, 2012
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