like jukeboxes
with broken springs
stuck spitting
same old notes
in useless combinations
by programmed mechanisms
designed only for playing
not recording, blathering
for the sake of babbling
enacting hawkings,
oshos, and mandelas
copying their quotes
incessantly, confusing
cacophony for a capella
living in dusty cellars
running toy trains on repeat
humility ain't nothing
sweet for foolish parrots
young bunnies need
to eat more carrots
and grow some wisdom
the kind that comes
from shutting up
and listening
more aggravating yet
is the leave of tolerance
for self-indulgent yapping
a disappointing minute
on the other hand - the hour
of sincere expression
