I just...

can't believe sometimes

the glory of your trust,

the stories of your mind.

A new will

has blanketed my own;

A patience

spilled over the temptation to abandon truth.

And it is all courtesy of

my time alone

in a telephone booth.

I made a call,


to see what you'd pay

for a bit of my breath

and some static.

As luck would have it,

I was stuck trying to discern

your voice from the grains,

the peace from the havoc.

And I was a bit ashamed

making you empty your pockets

on a confused caller

who couldn't even holler 'hello'.

Truth be told,

I was tugging my collar, frightened,


and stuttering into the cold.

But whispers would escape the telephone pores

now and again,

reassuring your presence.

And though the weight of my thoughts

would topple the box,

I'd have knocked myself down

for a single lesson.

Yes, the night is solemnly obscure,

but my ear is a wick

for the lighting

in which I'm confiding

your guiding voice

will illuminate pure...

And with the hours I've strung up

you still haven't hung up.

I wonder how much you've rung up

for me?

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