The Call

There's a ringing in my ear;

All too vivid, I fear.

The sound comes from a common source;

I answer, "who's calling" - my voice is hoarse.

The dial tone wails;

Synchronicity trails.

I rise, stagger, and drop the phone;

The ballpoint dagger cuts to bone.

Tock follows tick;

My tongue is not silver and my wit is not quick.

There is one way back to personal clout:

One must overcome fear and doubt.

Premonitions of trust;

The sheen of lust.

There is balance on paper;

"Good morning," I wave to my neighbour.