Nothing to say
Living my life out of a suitcase,
sights filled my head with words
so freshly minted and surreal
I could smell them coming
even before I saw the sights
and they meant the world to me.
I sit now at a desk, a shade
of unfathomable gray so full of meaning
I wouldn’t know where to start looking;
and I fear, if I did, I would find
even the words I knew
leaking out like a dysfunctional toilet flush
till I am a man the way
newsreaders are men.
Precis: Nothing to say,
and I will say it
over and over again.