We ran out of pencils
which didn't bother us much
'till we discovered that
we ran out of words and letters
as well and

in the lack of words
there was nothing to ration
sheer terror and confusion
and those leaked out of storage
foaming, flooding, roaring
draining all other emotions and

thus the hunger settled in
oozing through the cracks
clinging to the walls
suckling like an orphaned boy
until, when nothing's left
consumed itself to null and

we were left with the absence
who's already small amounts
swelled, and inflated
filling our entire volume
entrapping the echos of memory
then, naturally,
diffused to the outside and

we were left
deprived of selves
only the void within preventing us
from bursting towards the void outside
we float
in no distinct direction
and on occasion bump
into each other's shell
a tap deprived of sound
unable to disturb
eternal peace

Tread lightly
as not to trample
the stalks of budding dreams
Let them sprout
in the gap between the toes
watch them sway
in the breeze caused
by the friction of your lifting foot
extended towards their counterparts
an endless step away

Choose carefully
with your sparse and
widening  steps
which flagstone  cracked with age
will  resonate  through
you
its  painful
song of  burden
its lifting  song
of  joy

Float  than
gently
push  the  air
repeal   gravity
with    jets    fueled
by     yourself
     that ' s      i  t
                y  o  u  
                       f    l    y

For you, I'll make a nest
on top of the church spire
and fashion it
from plastic straw
and dangling colored wires
I'll cushion it with cold receipts
and pocket lint
and party flyers
and leave each morning
an early bird
to pluck stale crumbs
and rancid meat
from drifter's blackened feet
before even the buses
took to the street

You will feel at home

I will feel concrete