find my voice
box, speak, words
forming and foaming
mouth agape
stunning

stunned

growing
taken root
not withered
withal
without you and
me, with words,
to speak,
words
too.

an inky melody
a heart's rendition of tar
and travelling near
never to lose, to halt,
unscrewing the pen,
snapping
the cartridge
drinking down
words
lips blue
body cold.

if I spat on a tree
would you hear
that melody?

a hundred times
you've told me to
stop-
"your words mean nothing"
and on and on,
but if you could just see
wade through to me
experience what is not
going
on
no lines in the sand
that i don't need to rhyme with
or rewrite
'the wasteland'
then i think
you
would think
more of
this
end, of my end
think more
of our
end in
this
our ending.