Thoughtless and blankness are my thoughts,
many words remained unsaid and they only gather dust.
My throat itches with uncertainty and I could only
cough syllables after syllables of  falsity--

I want to tell the world many things, I want
to describe the beauty I see when I look up,
that the clouds do in fact conjure up images
and bird do move in such graceful free manner.

"what are you doing?"

" nothing---"

*' I was trying to count the clouds, they look wonderful don't they?'