Memory’s a Party

I don’t remember before
I didn’t have anybody to talk to and then
I remember the party started, and the crowd grew,
and I just kept having in all of you.

I couldn’t carry on a decent conversation
to save my soul
except worth a dammit great one
at moments with all of you in here.

This memory home thing, it’s all about the gracious living
of a well-furnished apartment,
everything that ear and eye can buy,
those indelible marks of speeches scribbled across the walls,
colored marker fragments of word laced gaggles collected all
here and there, all your life,
you’ve been excited gray cells waiting for that
next cool phrase to arrive,
toss in a little foreign vocabulary captured in the wild
to hang on your cerebellum.

Ho, the coat rack’s getting kinda full,
but don’t let appearances fool you,
there’s still more room, always
room for one more,
so keeping dropping your shoes and slippers at my wide open front door.

Y’all come on in, you hear, got opinions, I listen,
soaking y’all up, as in Philly like a sponge,
word rush dust vacuumed up
to fill the born to be wild quiet mind,
amp that life of silent reflection,
or quiet desperation,
but no head clearing here, no,
cuz it’s like all-talk radio, all the time inside this big house,
just the way mama likes it, captive volume rising, rolling
hot for Joey’s new pair of kicks.

Still, even in here, getting on in years,
I think I spend most of my time listening more than chattering on,
welcome you each, mostly a listener forevermore.

My, how the chairs keep on appearing,
it’s like a Costco warehouse in here,
the biggest IKEA in the world
to furnish all your needs,
your heart’s desire, as you wish.

Definitely, more than half the conversation’s yours, my friends.
I like to sit and hear you clash,
crash up against each other
a turbulent washing machine of words,
way tubular highs, with no wipe-outs here, oh,
how you adrenalize me.

You better believe your bet that I say that to all the girls,
and to the guys romping around in here for that matter too . . .

But still, when it’s my time to step up to the microphone,
time, say, as host, to thank y’all for being here,
speech, speech,
that scene,
I find it’s that time of day, man,
for a good stiff one, but, hey,
come on, y’all say,
be brave, especially when you think
it’s not your turn to speak,
imagine us all sitting here naked,
with all our synonyms exposed.

Admit I’m a victim of language love,
loving everybody in this bloody place to pieces,
encouraging words, you are, as Yoda might say,
let’s let the force be with us in every verbiaged maniacal way.

Al Franken taught me I was as good as anyone else,
I still don’t believe him, but I keep up the mantra
with the help of all y’all.

Hey, the party’s in full swing now, and the crowd keeps growing.

Happy Birthday to every single word
I’ve ever read or heard,
and to all you weary stragglers and strangers and dreamers out there,
don’t forget:

This mind’s open 24 hours a day.

* * * * *

Today’s writing prompt is


Use it to inspire a piece of writing, and then post that piece as a comment below. I’d love to read it. Even if it’s only a sentence : )

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