THE DANGLING CONVERSATION...

It's a still life water color, 
Of a now late afternoon, 
As the sun shines through the curtained lace 
And shadows wash the room. 
And we sit and drink our coffee 
Couched in our indifference, 
Like shells upon the shore 
You can hear the ocean roar 
In The Dangling Conversation 
And the superficial sighs, 
The borders of our lives. 
And you read your Emily Dickinson, 
And I my Robert Frost, 
And we note our place with bookmarkers 
That measure what we've lost. 
Like a poem poorly written 
We are verses out of rhythm, 
Couplets out of rhyme, 
In syncopated time 
And The Dangling Conversation 
And the superficial sighs 
Are the borders of our lives. 
Yes we speak of things that matter, 
With words that must be said, 
"Can analysis be worthwhile?" 
"Is the theater really dead?" 
And how the room is softly faded 
And I only kiss your shadow, 
I cannot feel your hand, 
You're a stranger now unto me 
Lost in The Dangling Conversation 
And the superficial sighs 
In the borders of our lives. 
~
Paul Simon