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DANGLING CONVERSATION Simon & Garfunkel It's a still life water color; of a now late afternoon. As the sun shines through the curtained lace; and shadows wash the room. And we sit and drink our coffee; couched in our indifference, like shells upon the shore; you can hear the ocean roar, in the dangling conversation and the superficial sighs, the borders of our lives. And you read your Emily Dickinson; and I my Robert Frost. And we note our place with bookmarkers; That measure what we've lost. Like a poem poorly written; we are verses out of rhythm, couplets out of rhyme, in syncopated time. and the dangled conversation; and the superficial sighs; are the borders of our lives. Yes we speak of things that matter; with words that must be said, "Can analysis be worthwhile?" "Is the theater really dead?" And how the room is softly faded; and I only kiss your shadow; I cannot feel your hand. You're a stranger now unto me; lost in the dangling conversation. and the superficial sighs, an the borders of our lives.


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