So
many words
A
ghost of my former self,
I’m
floating high above the hostile terrain.
My
mask has been jerked away
and
there is no one behind it.
Words
are mere stains
on
a page, flat and stodgy
or
wind through the larynx,
empty
as a whistle.
Waiting
with a blank mind
for
the poem to come
while
it is the blank mind
I
should be trying to express.
Every
surrounding thing
now
has become extraneous,
keeping
me achingly shy
of
my one central purpose.
O
child of God, so many words you use
to
describe the ineffable.
(drawing
by Rich Panico)
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