Word sketcher
In waiting rooms
And stalls
Incomplete thoughts
Writings unresolved

Bits and pieces
In boxes
He hoards
Parts and pieces
Of his very core

Inspired thoughts
That found no rhyme
Lovers lost
Between scribbles
And lines

Perhaps someday
He'll write his book
With incomplete sentences
That have no hooks

Or passionate themes
Of romantic dreams
That run amok
When the telephone rings

And so another lost thought
Of the sketchers get boxed...