what do you do when words needed don’t come
when the songs that you sing have already been sung—
what do you say when the saying tongue breaks
in crashing and cliffs and the fracture of waves?
where do you go when the pages once home
turn deadened white eyes from gazes unknown—
where do you set down the shimmering shards
of ice-blackened dreams and burnt-harvest of stars?
which line do you dial to speak to your self
the ghosts in these walls have stories to tell—
which thoughts do you bury in castles of sand
of mice and of men and of best-measured plans?
blood streams in the rain of a heart-shrapnel sky
the clocktower trembles, snow falls in july
the pact at the crossroads, at what cost obtained?
the voice that is silenced endures a sea-change
the act is perfected, the pen’s out of place
the mask worn too long
one day alters the face