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INADEQUATE WORDS
Let me depart
This play with words,
And enter
Sounds of nothing.
An earthen urn
Echoes river music,
Flows with the current,
To the inevitable dialectic
Of whirlpool sounds.
Let the river churn my blood,
Permeate through osmotic skin,
Until bed sheets lie crumpled,
Keyboards are shattered.
In the autumn of night
A white page stares at me,
I beat my breasts
Like an agitated gorilla
Ululating his mating call.
Hillsides reverberate
With urgent madness,
That is the message
In it all.
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