It is hard to speak about
what you want to speak about
when all you do is speak about
the way you’d speak about
what you want to speak about.
Things get worse then when you try
to speak about the way you'd like to
speak about these things you hold so dear
that you can't help but speak about them,
to the point you mean to speak about
the way you'd love to speak about them.
But is unbearable when after so long
of trying everything to explain the how,
you fall out of love with what you wanted
to speak so madly about, and all is left
are the ghosts of departed quantities of genius,
the maddening silence after your great idea is gone,
that cigarette ash flake floating in the afternoon,
so graciously convinced of being smoke,
perhaps even a cloud.