Echoes

Echoes

I sit motionless
stringing words
of fake pearls
into a bleak necklace
To fill the
choking
21% oxygen silence.
It’s like drowning in
olive oil—Extra virgin.

I am the leafless green shoot
pulling itself from the concrete drain
without properly formed roots

I am a fraction of my voice
from the Skype echo test service
I used to fill up the silence.
Image
The Blobbing Fish.