Eloquence evades me.


I find myself distressed, because I cannot
spew out pearls of such intense clarity they make
jaws drop in awe, eyes bulge with wonder.


Write to me some summer lines.


Write to me an ode to the days of yore.
when words and daisies
lined up my street with white sunbeams,
golden dreams.


Now even happiness leaves me uninspired.
oddly content. oddly hollow.
bated breath and tip-toeing eggshells to see
if it (when it) ends.


Suspicion.
Superstition.


Hollow laughter in hollow silences.
Hollow words.


I become become become
speechless.