The echo of ego

 There´s an echo in this room
My voice bounces back to me
hitting on the wall
It´s a conversation
A void, an attempt at exchange

My words pour out 
across the wooden floor
strings to the ceiling
can I admire my own voice
As it kicks about as noise

I could do with an ear
Not attached to me
but another human being
to capture a gram of my sense
To taste it as oddity yet soon after as commodity

Yet I am here revising my utterances
as they converge returning to my own ears
A boiling soup of my own concoction
splattering up and falling right back into itself
Yet I must flavor it all so that mouth could be ear
and I could be heard