transistor dial homes.

I feel as though I have gone into hiding. Taking a long summer hibernation from the normally nominal social circles I have a tendency to run in.
The phone rings and vibrates, leaving behind a carnage of tone depressed voice-mails and questioning text messages that need to be sorted at the end of each day.
Maybe I am becoming more of a hermit, burrowing deep inside a shell, putting up privacy fences and hedges, training ferocious beasts to walk the property lines of my social self.
There is no particular reason, there is no judgement being placed, no values assigned to the hundreds of people I have been failing to make contact with. My wires are crossed and I can not seem to find the motivation to upkeep the satellite and communication lines to all the distant lights.
Many people are in my thoughts and considerations daily, forcing a smile from my lips as I venture down the pavement during my work day hustle. I harbor no ill will towards anyone, I have simply grown lackadaisical with my diligence in regards to keeping correspondence.
I feel as though the distant lights are shutting off, slowly tuning out of my ever babbling radio station of a life, finding newer, more up beat transistor dial homes.


I am not the man of interest that I hoped to become,
I am now the quiet observer.
I still mumble in the darkness with eye lids closed,
stumbling through thoughts not turning over.