I often feel frac/
                           tured

As though I’ve
f
a
   l
     l
      e
        n
Between
           The
Cracks
          Of
Memory-

Like a broken bottle
Left
Forlornly in a wood,
Or
A faded,
Sun-bleached
Photograph;
Decaying
In an empty house-

When you’ve withdrawn
Upon,
within,
around
Yourself, so much
That even the dust stagnates-

How can you expect
Anyone
To intrude
Into that self-imposed solitude?
Especially,
If you,
Yourself,
Have no clue how to break it?

The bell has lost it’s clapper,
A mallet without a gong,
Tongueless  mouth gaping wide-
Emitting only a feeble moan,
Easily dismissed as the wind,
Whipping around the eaves,
and through the trees.