A pile of words.

A pile of words
and each spoken
another collected
as the heap began to sway
as a body tilted above it
lifting a foot and kicking.

The words flew
spreading about
filling the ground
with rotted junk
and the body sighed in disgust
littering more words.

Should I pick this up
or leave it?
It isn’t only my mess
it was already falling
I just gave it another shove
and the soil was already rotten
as if hope could grow
within dead soil.

For as many words
that end up in the dump
there has to be as many recycled
or how else would we all speak
write, and think?

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina